“A fitting night!” he muttered, as he plunged into the driving rain, forcing his way across the court-yard toward the main gate.  The little light in the gate-keeper’s window was his guide, so, blinded by the torrents, blown by the winds, he soon found himself before the final barrier.  Peering through the window he saw the keeper dozing in his chair.  By the light from within he selected from the bunch of keys he carried one that had a white string knotted in its ring.  This was the key that was to open the big gate in case no one challenged him.  In any other case he was to give the countersign, “Dangloss,” and trust fortune to pass him through without question.

Luck was with him, and, finding the great lock, he softly inserted and turned the key.  The wind blew the heavy gate open violently, and it required all of his strength to keep it from banging against the wall beyond.  The most difficult task that he had encountered grew from his efforts to close the gate against the blast.  He was about to give up in despair when a hand was laid on his shoulder and some one hissed in his startled ear: 

“Sh!  Not a word!”

His legs almost went from under his body, so great was the shock and the fear.  Two strong hands joined his own in the effort to pull the door into position, and he knew at once that they belonged to the man who was to meet him on the corner at the right of the prison wall.  He undoubtedly had tired of the delay, and, feeling secure in the darkness of the storm, had come to meet his charge, the escaping prisoner.  Their united efforts brought about the desired result, and together they left the prison behind, striking out against the storm in all its fury.

“You are late,” called the stranger in his ear.

“Not too late, am I?” he cried back, clutching the other’s arm.

“No, but we must hasten.”

“Captain Quinnox, is it you?”

“Have a care!  The storm has ears and can hear names,” cautioned the other.  As rapidly as possible they made their way along the black street, almost a river with its sheet of water.  Lorry had lost his bearings, and knew not whither he went, trusting to the guidance of his struggling companion.  There seemed to be no end to their journey, and he was growing weak beneath the exertion and the excitement.

“How far do we go?” he cried, at last.

“But a few rods.  The carriage is at the next corner.”

“Where is the carriage to take me?” he demanded.

“I am not at liberty to say.”

“Am I to see her before I go?”

“That is something I cannot answer, sir.  My instructions are to place you in the carriage and ride beside the driver until our destination is reached.”

“Is it the castle?” cried the other, joyously.

“It is not the castle,” was the disappointing answer.

At that moment they came upon a great dark hulk and heard the stamping of horses’ hoofs close at hand.  It was so dark they could scarcely discern the shape of the carriage, although they could touch its side with their hands.