“Oh, man!—­man!—­forgive me, dear uncle, I would not vex you!  But if there were gold in that dungeon—­broad bars of gold, or shining silver, or a prize that would make you rich, would you ask me the how and the where?  Would that clumsy block, and those slight bars, and that dull jailer, be an obstacle that would keep you back?  Would you need a poor girl like me to tell you that the blocks might be pierced—­that the bars might be broken—­that the jailer might be won to the mercy which would save?  You have strength—­you have skill—­you have the capacity, the power—­there is but one thing wanting to my prayer—­the will, the disposition!”

“You do me wrong, Lucy—­great wrong, believe me.  I feel for this young man, and the thought has been no less painful to me than to you, that my agency has contributed in great measure to his danger.  But what if I were to have the will, as you say—­what if I went forward to the jailer and offered a bribe—­would not the bribe which the state has offered for my arrest be a greater attraction than any in my gift?  To scale the walls and break the bars, or in any forcible manner to effect the purpose, I must have confederates, and in whom could I venture to confide?  The few to whom I could intrust such a design are like myself, afraid to adventure or be seen, and such a design would be defeated by Rivers himself, who so much hates the youth, and is bent on his destruction.”

“Speak not of him—­say to him nothing—­you must do it yourself if you do it all.  You can effect much if you seriously determine.  You can design, and execute all, and find ready and able assistance, if you once willingly set about it.  I am not able to advise, nor will you need my counsel.  Assure me that you will make the effort—­that you will put your whole heart in it—­and I have no fears—­I feel confident of his escape.”

“You think too highly of my ability in this respect.  There was a time, Lucy, when such a design had not been so desperate, but now—­”

“Oh, not so desperate now, uncle, uncle—­I could not live—­not a moment—­were he to perish in that dreadful manner.  Have I no claim upon your mercy—­will you not do for me what you would do for money—­what you have done at the bidding of that dreadful wretch, Rivers?  Nay, look not away, I know it all—­I know that you had the dagger of Colleton—­that you put it into the hands of the wretch who struck the man—­that you saw him strike—­that you strove not to stop his hand.  Fear you not I shall reveal it?  Fear you not?—­but I will not—­I can not!  Yet this should be enough to make you strive in this service.  Heard you not, too, when lie spoke and stopped my evidence, knowing that my word would have saved him—­rather than see me brought to the dreadful trial of telling what I knew of that night—­that awful night—­when you both sought his life?  Oh, I could love him for this—­for this one thing—­were there nothing else besides worthy of my love!”