“God bless you,” whispered Geoffrey, feeling a mad desire to kiss the pretty pink ear and soft cheek which he could just see by the dim light of Miss Moppet’s candle; “shall I start at once?”

“No,” returned Betty, “Josiah Huntington has just sought his chamber, and he will be watchful.  Wait until you hear the old clock on the staircase strike three; that is the hour, I have been told, when all sleep most soundly.  Then Moppet will tell you if all goes right, for I shall be waiting for you, as I said, above;” and with a soft “be very, very careful to make no noise,” Betty moved away from the “doll’s dungeon” and Yorke bounded to his feet.

“Now, Moppet,” said Betty softly, “let me wrap you well in your woolen habit, lest you take cold.”

“Oh, Betty darling,” whispered the child, “how will you ever gain the garret stairs when Reuben is watching?  He will be sure to think it strange; can I not go for you?”

“No, never,” said Betty tenderly.  “I will slip by Reuben, and you must not fret.  Sit here on my knee and go fast asleep until I wake you.”

Moppet nestled her little head down obediently on Betty’s shoulder; but try hard though she did to keep her eyes wide open, sleep at last overcame her,—­sleep so profound after all this excitement that Betty was able to lay her softly upon her bed without awaking, and for the remainder of those long hours Betty kept her vigil alone.  It was nervous work:  for determined though she was to release Yorke, Betty possessed a most sensitive and tender conscience, and love for her country and her people was as the air she breathed.  It proved the tenacity of her purpose and the strength of her will that, notwithstanding her many misgivings, when she heard the clock sound the quarter she rose from her low seat by the window, where she had been gazing out into the night, and whispered softly to Moppet that it was time to wake.  The child sprang up, alert and quick as Betty herself, and listened to her sister’s last warning instructions to have no fear, but wait quietly for her return, and when the clock struck the hour to whisper through the hole in the chimney to Yorke that she had gone.

Very softly, her slippers held tightly in her hand, Betty pulled up the latch of the bedroom door and stepped into the almost dark hall.  The night lamp had partly died out, but there was still enough of its flickering light to permit her, when her eyes grew accustomed to it, to see the dim outline of Reuben’s figure sitting on a stool at the door of the north chamber.  In order to reach the garret from this part of the house she must go directly down the hall to where it parted at the L, where the stairs reaching the garret were shut off by a door, on the other aide of which was a square landing, where you could turn down and descend directly from the garret to the buttery.  Once past Reuben, she would feel comparatively safe, for although Oliver’s room was opposite he was