I saw no one for the next two hours.  A window of the parlour, where I was permitted to remain, overlooked the soi-disant park—­or rather Manhattan-disant—­and it was not long before I caught a glimpse of my mate and Neb, lying off and on, or blockading the jail, lest I should be secretly carried to parts unknown, or some other great evil should approach me from without.  What these two honest and affectionate fellows meant by thus maintaining their post, I did not know, it is true; but such was my conjecture.  At length Neb disappeared, and was absent an hour.  When he retained, he had a coil of rope over his shoulder, when the two took a station at a safe distance from my prison, and began to measure off fathoms, to cut, knot and splice.  I was amused with their diligence, which made no abatement until it was interrupted by myself.  Of the manner in which that was effected I shall have occasion to speak presently.

About two hours after I was left by Lucy and her father, a keeper came to announce another visitor.  I was expecting my own attorney or Mr. Harrison; but the reader will judge of my surprise when Andrew Drewett entered the room.  He was accompanied by the jailer, who held a letter in his hand, and who astounded me by saying—­

“Captain Wallingford, I have instructions here to open the door for you—­bail has been entered.”

The jailer disappeared.

“And this I owe to you, Mr. Drewett!”

“I wish I could say as much, with all my heart, my dear sir,” Andrew replied, taking my hand, and giving it a warm, cordial shake; “but it would not be strictly true.  After saving my life, I should not have suffered you to lie in jail for want of so small a favour as giving bail for your appearance in court, certainly; but would, and will, gladly be your special bail, at the proper time.  Let the credit fall, however, only where it is due.  Miss Hardinge asked me to obtain your release, and her wishes are second only to my own gratitude.”

This was said in a frank, manly manner; and I wondered I had never viewed Andrew Drewett in a light so favourable before.  He had improved in person, bore himself like a gentleman I now thought, and was every way a pleasing, well-mannered, well-dressed, and intelligent-looking young man.  I could do all justice to him but pardon him Lucy’s preference.

“Lucy can never forget our childish intimacy,” I said, a little confused.  “She left me, declaring an intention to do something of the sort; though I confess I was not exactly prepared for this.  You are a man to be envied, Mr. Drewett, if any man on earth is!”

Andrew looked embarrassed.  He glanced at me, coloured, turned his look out at the window, then, by a vast effort, seemed to regain his self-command.

“I believe I understand you, Wallingford,” he said.  “You mean, in being engaged to Lucy Hardinge?”

“I can mean nothing else—­all I hear—­all I have seen—­this last act, in particular, tells me as much.”