“Is it Robert?” murmured Glenarvan.
But, though only whispering this name, Mary Grant, awakened by the movement that was taking place in the hut, glided towards Glenarvan, and, seizing this hand all soiled with mud, covered it with kisses.
“It is you! it is you!” cried the young girl, who could not be mistaken, “you, my Robert!”
“Yes, little sister,” replied Robert, “I am here to save you all! But silence!”
“Brave lad!” repeated Glenarvan.
“Keep watch of the savages outside,” continued Robert.
Mulready, whose attention had been diverted for a moment by the appearance of the hand, resumed his post of observation.
“All is well,” said he. “Only four warriors are watching now. The others have fallen asleep.”
“Courage!” replied Wilson.
In an instant the hole was widened, and Robert passed from the arms of his sister into those of Lady Helena. Around his body was wound a rope of flax.
“My boy! my boy!” murmured Lady Helena; “these savages did not kill you?”
“No, madam,” replied Robert. “Somehow, during the uproar, I succeeded in escaping their vigilance. I crossed the yard. For two days I kept hidden behind the bushes. At night I wandered about, longing to see you again. While the tribe were occupied with the funeral of the chief, I came and examined this side of the fortification, where the prison stands, and saw that I could reach you. I stole this knife and rope in a deserted hut. The tufts of grass and the bushes helped me to climb. By chance I found a kind of grotto hollowed out in the very rock against which this hut rests. I had only a few feet to dig in the soft earth, and here I am.”
Twenty silent kisses were his only answer.
“Let us start,” said he, in a decided tone.
“Is Paganel below?” inquired Glenarvan.
“Mr. Paganel?” repeated the boy, surprised apparently at the question.
“Yes; is he waiting for us?”
“No, my lord. What! is he not here?”
“He is not, Robert,” replied Mary Grant.
“What! have you not seen him?” exclaimed Glenarvan. “Did you not meet each other in the confusion? Did you not escape together?”
“No, my lord,” answered Robert, at a loss to understand the disappearance of his friend Paganel.
“Let us start,” said the major; “there is not a moment to lose. Wherever Paganel may be, his situation cannot be worse than ours here. Let us go.”
Indeed, the moments were precious. It was high time to start. The escape presented no great difficulties, but for the almost perpendicular wall of rock outside of the grotto, twenty feet high. The declivity then sloped quite gently to the base of the mountain, from which point the captives could quickly gain the lower valleys, while the Maoris, if they chanced to discover their flight, would be forced to make a very long détour, since they were not aware of the passage that had been dug in the mountain.
They now prepared to escape, and every precaution was taken to insure their success. The captives crawled one by one through the narrow passage, and found themselves in the grotto. Captain Mangles, before leaving the hut, concealed all traces of their work, and glided in his turn through the opening, which he closed with the mats. Their outlet was therefore entirely hidden.
The object now was to descend the perpendicular wall of rock, which would have been impossible if Robert had not brought the flax rope. It was unwound, fastened to a point of rock, and thrown over the declivity.
Before allowing his friends to trust their weight to these flaxen fibres, Captain Mangles tested them. They seemed to be quite strong, but it would not answer to venture rashly, for a fall might be fatal.
“This rope,” said he, “can only bear the weight of two bodies, and we must therefore act accordingly. Let Lord and Lady Glenarvan slide down first. When they have reached the bottom, three shakes at the rope will be the signal to follow them.”
“I will go first,” replied Robert. “I have discovered at the base of the slope a sort of deep excavation, where those who descend first can wait for the others in safety.”
“Go then, my boy,” said Glenarvan, clasping the boy’s hand.
Robert disappeared through the opening of the grotto. A moment after, three shakes of the rope informed them that he had accomplished his descent successfully.
Glenarvan and Lady Helena now ventured out of the grotto. The darkness below was still profound, but the gray light of dawn was already tinging the top of the mountain. The keen cold of the morning reanimated the young wife; she felt stronger, and commenced her perilous escape.
First her husband, and then she, slid down the rope to the point where the perpendicular wall met the summit of the slope. Then Glenarvan, going before his wife and assisting her, began to descend the declivity of the mountain backwards. He sought for tufts of grass and bushes that offered a point of support, and tried them before placing Lady Helena’s feet upon them. Several birds, suddenly awakened, flew away with shrill cries, and the fugitives shuddered when a large stone rolled noisily to the base of the mountain.
They had accomplished half the distance when a voice was heard at the opening of the grotto.
“Stop!” whispered Captain Mangles.
Glenarvan, clinging with one hand to a tuft of grass and holding his wife with the other, waited, scarcely breathing.
Wilson had taken alarm. Hearing some noise outside, he had returned to the hut, and, raising the mat, watched the Maoris. At a sign from him the captain had stopped Glenarvan.
In truth, one of the warriors, startled by some unaccustomed sound, had risen and approached the prison. Standing two paces from the hut, he listened with lowered head. He remained in this attitude for a moment, that seemed an hour, with ear intent and eye on the alert. Then, shaking his head as a man who is mistaken, he returned to his companions, took an armful of dead wood and threw it on the half-extinct fire, whose flames revived.
