that no sound of violence might reach and wake the inmates of the house
across the road. Then he returned, and whispered in a low voice to the
inmate:

"Paul Benedict, give us your benediction."

"Jim," responded the man in a whisper, so light that it could reach no
ear but his own.

"Don't make no noise, not even if I sh'd make consid'able," said Jim.

Then, grasping the bars with both hands, he gave the door a sudden pull,
into which he put all the might of his huge frame. A thousand pounds
would not have measured it, and the door yielded, not at the bolt, but
at the hinges. Screws deeply imbedded were pulled out bodily. A second
lighter wrench completed the task, and the door was noiselessly set
aside, though Jim was trembling in every muscle.

Benedict stood at the door.

"Here's the robe that Abram sent ye," said Jim, throwing over the poor
man's shoulders an ample blanket; and putting one of his large arms
around him, he led him shuffling out of the hall, and shut and bolted
the door.

He had no sooner done this, than the bedlam inside broke loose. There
were yells, and howls, and curses, but Jim did not stop for these.
Dizzied with his effort, enveloped in thick darkness, and the wind which
preceded the approaching shower blowing a fierce gale, he was obliged to
stop a moment to make sure that he was walking in the right direction.