At the same instant a whisper came to their ears.  “The work’s done at last.  Jones is out.  Parsons close at his heels.  Cox behind him.  Will you go next?”

“Thanks, no; I will be the last,” said Duncan; “and take charge of Allison here, who is too weak to travel far alone.”

“Then I’m off,” returned the voice.  “Don’t lose a minute in following me.”

“Now, Allison,” whispered Harry, “summon all your strength and courage, old fellow.”

“Duncan, you are a true and noble friend!  God reward you.  Let me be last.”

“No, in with you, man! not an instant to spare;” and with kindly force he half lifted his friend into the well, and guided him to the mouth of the tunnel.

Allison crept through it as fast as his feeble strength would permit, Duncan close behind him.

They emerged in safety, as the others had done before them; at once scattering in different directions.

These two moved on together, for several minutes, plunging deeper and deeper into the woods, but presently paused to take breath and consider their bearings.

“Oh, the air of liberty is sweet!” exclaimed Duncan, in low, exultant tones; “but we mustn’t delay here.”

“No; we are far from safe yet,” panted Allison, “but—­’prayer and provender hinder no man’s journey’; Duncan, let us spend one moment in silent prayer for success in reaching the Union lines.”

They did so, kneeling on the ground; then rose and pressed forward with confidence.  God, whose servants they were and whose help they had asked, would guide them in the right direction.

“What a providence!” exclaimed Duncan, grasping Harold’s arm, as they came out upon an opening in the wood.  “See!” and he pointed upward, “the clouds have broken away a little, and there shines the North Star:  we can steer by that.”

“Thank God! and, so far, we have been traveling in the right direction.”

“Amen! and we must press on with all speed; for daylight will soon be upon us, and with it, in all probability, our escape will be discovered and pursuit begun.”

No more breath could be spared for talk, and they pushed on in silence, now scrambling through a thicket of underbrush, tearing their clothes and not seldom lacerating their flesh also; now leaping over a fallen tree, anon climbing a hill, and again fording or swimming a stream.

At length Harold, sinking down upon a log, said, “I am utterly exhausted!  Can go no farther.  Go on, and leave me to follow as I can after a little rest.”

“Not a step without you, Allison,” returned Duncan, determinedly.  “Rest a bit, and then try it again with the help of my arm.  Courage, old fellow, we must have put at least six or eight miles between us and our late quarters.  Ah, ha! yonder are some blackberry bushes, well laden with ripe fruit.  Sit or lie still while I gather our breakfast.”

Hastily snatching a handful of oak leaves, and forming a rude basket by pinning them together with thorns, he quickly made his way to the bushes, a few yards distant, while Harold stretched himself upon the log and closed his weary eyes.