more boldly.  On gaining a stack of chimneys at the back of the house, he came to a pause, and again unmasked his lantern.  Nothing, however, could be discerned, except the crumbling brickwork.  “Confusion!” ejaculated Jonathan:  “can he have escaped?  No.  The walls are too high, and the windows too stoutly barricaded in this quarter, to admit such a supposition.  He can’t be far off.  I shall find him yet.  Ah!  I have it,” he added, after a moment’s deliberation; “he’s there, I’ll be sworn.”  And, once more enveloping himself in darkness, he pursued his course.

He had now reached the adjoining house, and, scaling the roof, approached another building, which seemed to be, at least, one story loftier than its neighbours.  Apparently, Jonathan was well acquainted with the premises; for, feeling about in the dark, he speedily discovered a ladder, up the steps of which he hurried.  Drawing a pistol, and unclosing his lantern with the quickness of thought, he then burst through an open trap-door into a small loft.

The light fell upon the fugitive, who stood before him in an attitude of defence, with the child in his arms.

“Aha!” exclaimed Jonathan, acting upon the information he had obtained from Wood; “I have found you at last.  Your servant, Mr. Darrell.”

“Who are you!” demanded the fugitive, sternly.

“A friend,” replied Jonathan, uncocking the pistol, and placing it in his pocket.

“How do I know you are a friend?” asked Darrell.

“What should I do here alone if I were an enemy?  But, come, don’t let us waste time in bandying words, when we might employ it so much more profitably.  Your life, and that of your child, are in my power.  What will you give me to save you from your pursuers?”

“Can you do so?” asked the other, doubtfully.

“I can, and will.  Now, the reward?”

“I have but an ill-furnished purse.  But if I escape, my gratitude—­”

“Pshaw!” interrupted Jonathan, scornfully.  “Your gratitude will vanish with your danger.  Pay fools with promises.  I must have something in hand.”

“You shall have all I have about me,” replied Darrell.

“Well—­well,” grumbled Jonathan, “I suppose I must be content.  An ill-lined purse is a poor recompense for the risk I have run.  However, come along.  I needn’t tell you to tread carefully.  You know the danger of this breakneck road as well as I do.  The light would betray us.”  So saying, he closed the lantern.

“Harkye, Sir,” rejoined Darrell; “one word before I move.  I know not who you are; and, as I cannot discern your face, I may be doing you an injustice.  But there is something in your voice that makes me distrust you.  If you attempt to play the traitor, you will do so at the hazard of your life.”

“I have already hazarded my life in this attempt to save you,” returned Jonathan boldly, and with apparent frankness; “this ought to be sufficient answer to your doubts.  Your pursuers are below.  What was to hinder me, if I had been so inclined, from directing them to your retreat?”