“This Philip Joy,” said the Assistant, as they walked together, “is a malignant and desperate villain.  I did but visit him in order to get to the bottom of certain plots which I am well advised are hatching against our Commonwealth, whereunto he is privy, and which, indeed, he doth partly confess.  Have thou him in strict charge, Bars.  May the Lord forgive me,” he cried, suddenly stopping, “if I have not, in my amazement at his venomous audacity, left open the door of his cell.  Hasten, good Bars, lest by means of some confederate he escape in thine absence.”

The jailer turned instantly, as Spikeman had anticipated, and rapidly retraced his steps.  As for the Assistant himself, deeming his presence no longer necessary or convenient, he pursued his way, leaving further events to themselves.

When Bars returned, he found the door of the cell open.  He looked in, and by the help of his lantern, seeing Joy extended on his straw, was about to close it without speaking, when the soldier called, and he stepped into the dungeon.

“Sam Bars,” inquired Joy, “wherefore did you at first load me with irons, and afterwards take them off?”

“It was by order.”

“And it was not of thine own head?”

“Truly,” said Sam, “I would not of my own will lay a feather on thee, Philip,”.

“These be feathers, Sam, heavier than a bird’s,” said the soldier, rising and approaching his keeper.  “And being a friend, doubtless it would please thee to see me at liberty?”

“Assuredly, and that you will soon be.”

“Thou art a prophet,” cried Joy, springing upon the jailer; and seizing him with a powerful grasp, he hurled him to the ground, letting fall at the same time the manacles which he had loosely put on to deceive.  “Make no noise,” he added, “and I will not hurt thee, but to-night the words of thy prophecy must be fulfilled; so give me thy key.”

The man thus treated made no resistance, nor attempted to cry out, nor did he seem desirous to speak.

“What art in amaze about?” said the soldier.  “Hast lost thy wits with fright?  I tell thee I would not hurt thee, for all thy iron feathers.”

“I am pondering,” answered Bars, composedly, “whether it were better to allow thee to reap the fruit of thy folly, or to give thee good counsel.”

“Speak quick, man,” said Joy, “I have no time to spend in long talks like sermons.”

“Be not profane, Philip; but there is that in the pocket of my doublet, and which, if my arms were loose, I would give thee, might make thee willing to abide till morning.”

“A dagger, perhaps.  Nay, I will search before I trust thee.”  So saying, the soldier proceeded to investigate the other’s pockets, but he found nothing in them or about his person except his keys and a strip of paper.

“I see nothing,” he said, “but thine arms and a worthless bit of paper.”

“And that is an order for thy release on the morrow.  Read and satisfy thyself.”