Driscoll obeyed with readiness. His eager eye scrutinized hastily so much as he could catch of the import of each document; but he did not venture, by any attempt at selection, to excite Classon's suspicions.

"If we cannot make our own terms after this night's work, Driscoll, my name is not Paul Classon. The poor fellow here will soon be past tale-telling, even if he were able to see us. There you have dropped a large parchment."

"I' ll put it in the pocket of my cloak," said the other, in a whisper; while he added, still more stealthily, "would n't you swear that he was looking at us this minute?"

Classon started. The sick man's eyes were open, and their gaze directed towards them; while his lips, slightly parted, seemed to indicate a powerless attempt to speak.

"No," said Classon, in a scarcely audible whisper; "that is death."

"I declare I think he sees us," muttered Driscoll.

"And if he does, man, what signifies it? He's going where the knowledge will little benefit him. Have you everything safe and sure now? There, button your coat well up; we must start at once."

"May I never! if I can take my eyes off him," said Driscoll, trembling.

"You had better take yourself off bodily, my worthy friend; there's no saying who might chance to come in upon us here. Is not that a signet-ring on his finger? It would only be a proper attention to carry it to his mother, Driscoll." There was a half-sarcasm about the tone of this speech that made it sound strangely ambiguous, as, stooping down, he proceeded to take off the ring.

"Leave it there,--leave it there! it will bring bad luck upon us,"

murmured Driscoll, in terror.

"There is no such bad luck as not to profit by an opportunity,"

whispered Classon, as he tried, but in vain, to withdraw the ring.

A sharp, half-suppressed cry suddenly escaped him, and Driscoll exclaimed,--

"What is it? What's the matter?"

"Look, and see if he has n't got hold of me, and tightly too."

The affected jocularity of his tone accorded but ill with the expression of pain and fright so written upon his features, for the dying man had grasped him by the wrist, and held him with a grip of iron.

"That's what they call a dead man's grip, I suppose?" said Classon, in assumed mockery. "Just try if you cannot unclasp his fingers."

"I wouldn't touch him if you offered me a thousand guineas for it," said Driscoll, shuddering.

"Nonsense, man. We cannot stand fooling here, and I shall only hurt him if I try it with one hand. Come, open his fingers gently. Be quick. I hear voices without, and the tramp of horses' feet in the court below.

Where are you going? You're not about to leave me here?"

"May I never! if I know what to do," muttered Driscoll, in a voice of despair. "And did n't I tell you from the first it would bring bad luck upon us?"

"The worst of all luck is to be associated with a fool and a coward,"

said Classon, savagely. "Open these fingers at once, or give me a knife and I 'll do it myself."

"The Lord forgive you, but you 're a terrible man!" cried Driscoll, moving stealthily towards the door.

"So you _are_ going?" muttered Paul, with a voice of intense passion.

"You would leave me here to take the consequences, whatever they might be?"

Driscoll made no reply, but stepped hastily out of the room, and closed the door.

For a moment Classon stood still and motionless; then bending down his head, he tried to listen to what was passing outside, for there was a sound of voices in the corridor, and Driscoll's one of them. "The scoundrel is betraying me!" muttered Paul to himself. "At all events, these must not be found upon me." And with this, and by the aid of his one disengaged hand, he proceeded to strew the floor of the room with the various papers he had abstracted from the box. Again, too, he listened; but now all was still without. What could it mean? Had Driscoll got clear away, without even alluding to him? And now he turned his gaze upon the sick man, who lay there calm and motionless as before. "This will end badly if I cannot make my escape," muttered he to himself; and he once more strove with all his might to unclasp the knotted fingers; but such was the rigid tenacity of their grasp, they felt as though they must sooner be broken than yield. "Open your hand, sir. Let me free," whispered he, in Conway's ear. "That fellow has robbed you, and I must follow him. There, my poor man, unclasp your fingers," said he, caressingly, "or it will be too late!"

[Illustration: 402]

Was it a delusion, that he thought a faint flickering of a smile passed over that death-like countenance? And now, in whispered entreaty, Classon begged and implored the other to set him free.

"There is nothing for it, then, but this," said Paul, with a muttered curse, "and your own fault is it that I am driven to it!" And, so saying, he drew a powerful clasp-knife from his pocket, and tried to open it with his teeth; but the resistance of the spring still defied all his efforts for some time, and it was only after a long struggle that he succeeded. "He's insensible; he'll never feel it," muttered Paul below his breath; "and even if he should, self-preservation is the first of all cares." And with this he grasped the knife vigorously in his strong hand, and gazed at the sick man, who seemed to return his stare as fixedly. There was in Conway's look even a something of bold defiance, that seemed to say, "I dare and defy you!" so at least did Classon read it, and quailed before its haughty meaning. "What wretched cowardice is over me, and at a time when minutes are worth days!"

muttered Classon. "Here goes!" But now a confused noise of many voices, and the steps of advancing feet were heard in the corridor; and Classon sank down beside the bed, a cold sweat covering his forehead and face, while he trembled in every limb.

The room was speedily filled with staff officers and surgeons, in the midst of whom was a civilian, travel-stained and tired-looking, who pressed eagerly forward, saying, as he beheld Classon, "Who is this man,--what is he doing here?"

"An humble missionary,--a weak vessel," said Paul, whiningly. "In a paroxysm of his pain he caught me thus, and has held me ever since.

There--at last I am free!" And as he said these words, the sick man's fingers unclasped and liberated him.

"There has been foul play here," said Mr. Reggie, the stranger in civilian dress. "See! that box has been rifled; the floor is covered with papers. This man must be detained."

"In bonds or in a dungeon, it matters not," said Paul, holding up his hands as if about to open a lengthy discourse; but he was hurried away ere he could continue.

"He is certainly no worse," said one of the surgeons, as he felt Conway's pulse and examined the action of his heart; "but I am far from saying that he will recover!"

"If I do not greatly mistake," said Reggis, "our friend the missionary is the man through whose kind offices I was betrayed within the Russian lines; but I' ll look to this later. As it was, I have had little to complain of my treatment in Sebastopol, and my detention was of the shortest."

"And Miss Kellett,--is she free also?" asked one of the bystanders.

"Yes; we came back together. She is up at headquarters, giving Lord Raglan an account of her capture."

"What is it, Conway?" asked one of the surgeons, suddenly startled by the intensity of the anxiety in his face. "Are you in pain?"

He shook his head in dissent.

"You are thirsty, perhaps? Will you have something to drink?"

"No," said he, with the faintest possible utterance.

"What is it, then, my poor fellow?" said he, affectionately.

"So it was not a dream!" gasped out Conway.

"What was it you fancied to be a dream?"

"All,--everything but this!" And he pointed to a deep wound from a sabre-cut in his shoulder.

"Ay, and that, too, will be as a dream some years hence!" said the other, cheeringly.

It was evident, now, that the excitement of talking and seeing so many persons about him was injurious, and the surgeons silently motioned to the bystanders to retire.

"May I remain with him?" asked the lawyer. "If he could give his consent to certain measures, sign one or two papers, years of litigation might be saved."

Conway had meanwhile beckoned to the surgeon to approach him; and then, as the other leaned over the bed, he whispered,--