house opened. A frail figure was silhouetted against the light. The
wick above snuffed out. The figure drew in without a single look,
leaving the door ajar. But an hour ago, the iron righteousness of
bigots had filled my soul with revolt. Now the sight of that little
Puritan maid brought prayers to my lips and a Te Deum to my soul.

The prison gate swung open again with rusty protest. Two hooded
figures slipped through the dark. Jack Battle had locked the gate and
the keys were in my hand.

"Take them back," he gurgled out with school-lad glee. "'Twill be a
pretty to-do of witchcraft to-morrow when they find a cell empty. Go
hire passage to England in Captain Gillam's boat!"

"Captain Gillam's boat?"

"Yes, or Master Ben's pirate-ship of the north, if she's there," and he
had dashed off in the dark.

When Rebecca appeared above the cellar-way with a flagon that reamed to
a beaded top, the keys were back on the wall.

"I was overlong," panted Rebecca, with eyes averted as of old to the
folds of her white stomacher. "'Twas a stubborn bung and hard to draw."

"Dear little cheat! God bless you!--and bless you!--and bless you,
Rebecca!" I cried.

At which the poor child took fright.