The two lads walked slowly down the hill together. Harry had heard
no more than Charlie had done, of what was going on. The messenger
from his father was a young fellow, of seventeen or eighteen, with
a gipsy face and appearance. How he had managed to elude the
vigilance of the men on watch, Harry did not know. He, himself, had
only learnt his presence when, as he passed some bushes in the
garden, a sharp whisper made him stop, and a moment later a hand
was thrust through the foliage. He took the little note held out,
and caught sight of the lad's face, through the leaves, as he leant
forward and said:
"Go on, sir, without stopping. They may be watching you."
Harry had thrust the note into his pocket, and sauntered on for
some time. He then returned to the house, and there read the
letter, with whose contents Charlie was already acquainted.
Eagerly, they talked over what each had been thinking of since they
had parted, early on the previous day; and discussed Charlie's idea
of an attack on Lancaster jail.
"I don't know whether I could get as many men as you say, Charlie.
I don't think I could. If my father were in prison, as well as
yours, I am sure that most of the young fellows on the estate would
gladly help to rescue him, but it would be a different thing when
it came to risking their lives for anyone else.
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