“Not until the time comes when I may think it worth my while to throw away my life, in order to secure your death, Ben Soloman.”

“It is of no use talking like that,” the Jew said quietly.  “We are useful to each other.  I have saved your life from the gibbet, you have done the work I required.  Between us, it is worse than childish to threaten in the present matter.  I do not doubt that you will do your business well, and you know that you will be well paid for it; what can either of us require more?”

Charlie would have given a good deal to understand the conversation, and he would have been specially glad to learn that Stanislas had escaped with his life; for he had taken a great fancy to the young Lithuanian, and was grieved by the thought that he had probably lost his life in his defence.

Three days passed.  His head was now clear, and his appetite returning, and he found, by quietly moving at night, when his guard was asleep, that he was gaining strength.  The third day, there was some talking among several men who entered the room; then he was lifted, wrapt up in some cloths, and put into a large box.  He felt this being hoisted up, it was carried downstairs, and then placed on something.  A minute afterwards he felt a vibration, followed by a swaying and bumping, and guessed at once that he was on a cart, and was being removed, either to prison or to some other place of confinement.  The latter he considered more probable.

The journey was a long one.  He had no means of judging time, but he thought that it must have lasted two or three hours.  Then the rumbling ceased, the box was lifted down, and carried a short distance, then the lid was opened and he was again laid down on some straw.  He heard the sound of cart wheels, and knew that the vehicle on which he had been brought was being driven away.

He was now so hungry that he felt he could no longer maintain the appearance of insensibility.  Two men were talking in the room, and when, for a moment, their conversation ceased, he gave a low groan, and then opened his eyes.  They came at once to his bedside, with exclamations of satisfaction.

“How do you feel?” one asked in Swedish.

“I do not know,” he said in a low tone.  “Where am I, how did I get here?”

“You are with friends.  Never mind how you got here.  You have been ill, but you will soon get well again.  Someone hit you on the head, and we picked you up and brought you here.”

“I am weak and faint,” Charlie murmured.  “Have you any food?”

“You shall have some food, directly it is prepared.  Take a drink of wine, and see if you can eat a bit of bread while the broth is preparing.”

Charlie drank a little of the wine that was put to his lips, and then broke up the bread, and ate it crumb by crumb, as if it were a great effort to do so, although he had difficulty in restraining himself from eating it voraciously.  When he had finished it, he closed his eyes again, as if sleep had overpowered him.  An hour later, there was a touch on his shoulder.