Nathaniel jumped to his feet.  A fresh candle was burning on the table and in its light he saw that a startling change had come into Neil’s face during the hours he had slept.  It looked to him thinner and whiter, its lines had deepened, and the young man’s eyes were filled with gloomy dejection.

“Why didn’t you awaken me sooner?” he exclaimed.  “I deserve a good drubbing for leaving you alone here!” He saw fresh food on the table.  “It’s late—­” he began.

“That is our dinner and supper,” interrupted Neil.  He held his watch close to the candle.  “Half past eight!”

“And no word—­from—­”

“No.”

The two men looked deeply into each other’s eyes.

“Jeekum delivered my note to her at noon when he was relieved,” said Neil.  “He did not carry it personally but swears that he saw her receive it.  He sent her word that he would call at a certain place for a reply when he was relieved again at five.  There was no reply for him—­not a word from Winnsome.”

Their silence was painful.  It was Nathaniel who spoke first, hesitatingly, as though afraid to say what was passing in his mind.

“I killed Winnsome’s father, Neil,” he said, “and Winnsome has demanded my death.  I know that I am condemned to die.  But you—­” His eyes flashed sudden fire.  “How do you know that my fate is to be yours?  I begin to see the truth.  Winnsome has not answered your note because she knows that you are to live and that she will see you soon.  Between Winnsome and—­Marion you will be saved!”

Neil had taken a piece of meat and was eating it as though he had not heard his companion’s words.

“Help yourself, Nat.  It’s our last opportunity.”

“You don’t believe—­”

“No.  Lord, man, do you suppose that Strang is going to let me live to kill him?”

Somebody was fumbling with the chain at the dungeon door.

The two men stared as it opened slowly and Jeekum appeared.  The jailer was highly excited.

“I’ve got word—­but no note!” he whispered hoarsely.  “Quick!  Is it worth—­”

“Yes!  Yes!”

Nathaniel dug the gold pieces out of his pockets and dropped them into the jailer’s outstretched hand.

“I’ve had my boy watching Winnsome Croche’s house,” continued the sheriff, white with the knowledge of the risk he was taking.  “An hour ago Winnsome came out of the house and went into the woods.  My boy followed.  She ran to the lake, got into a skiff, and rowed straight out to sea.  She is following your instructions!”

In his excitement he betrayed himself.  He had read the note.

There came a sound up the corridor, the opening of a door, the echo of voices, and Jeekum leaped back.  Nathaniel’s foot held the cell door from closing.

“Where is Marion?” he cried softly, his heart standing still with dread.  “Great God—­what about Marion?”

For an instant the sheriff’s ghastly face was pressed against the opening.