"Phineas, lad," said he, brokenly, "thy old father is getting as
helpless as thee."

So we kept watch together, all the night through; sometimes dozing,
sometimes waking up at some slight noise below, or at the flicker of
the long-wicked candle, which fear converted into the glare of some
incendiary fire--doubtless our own home. Now and then I heard my
father mutter something about "the lad being safe." I said nothing.
I only prayed.

Thus the night wore away.



CHAPTER VIII

After Midnight--I know not how long, for I lost count of the hours by
the Abbey chimes, and our light had gone out--after midnight I heard
by my father's breathing that he was asleep. I was thankful to see
it for his sake, and also for another reason.

I could not sleep--all my faculties were preternaturally alive; my
weak body and timid mind became strong and active, able to compass
anything. For that one night, at least, I felt myself a man.

My father was a very sound sleeper. I knew nothing would disturb him
till daylight; therefore my divided duty was at an end. I left him,
and crept down-stairs into Sally Watkins' kitchen. It was silent,
only the faithful warder, Jem, dozed over the dull fire. I touched