e," he thought; and at that instant
there were heavy lunges at a door at the further end of the passage, and
a cry of "Help! help!"

Gubblum darted in the direction of the voice.

"Let me out!" cried the voice from within.

Gubblum tried the door. It was locked.

"Help! help!" came again.

"In a sniffer; rest ye a bit!" shouted Gubblum, and putting the light on
the floor, he planted his shoulder against the door, and one foot
against the opposite wall.

"Help! help! let me out! quick, quick!" came once more from within.

"Sec a skrummidge!" shouted Gubblum, panting for breath.

Then the lock gave way and the door flew open. In the midst of the bad
light Gubblum saw nothing at first. Then a woman with wild eyes and a
face of anguish came out on him from the dark room. It was Mercy Fisher.

When they recognized each other there was a moment of silence. But it
was only a moment, and that moment was too precious to be lost. In a
flood of tears the girl told him what had happened.

Gubblum understood no more than that villainy had been at work. Mercy
saw nothing but that she had been deceived and had been herself the
instrument of deception. This was enough.

"The raggabrash! I'd like to rozzle their backs with an ash stick," said
Gubblum.

"Oh, where have they taken him--where, where?" cried Mercy, wringing her
hands.

"Don't put on wi' thee--I know," said Gubblum. "I questit them up the
stairs. Come along wi' me, lass, and don't slobber and yowl like a
barn."

Gubblum whipped up his candle, and hurried along the passage and up the
ladder like a monkey, Mercy following at his heels.

"Belike they've locked this door forby," he said.

But no, the key was in the lock. Gubblum turned it and pushed it open.
Then he peered into the garret, holding the candle above his head. When
the light penetrated the darkness, they saw a man's figure outstretched
on a mattress that lay on the bare floor of the empty room. They ran up
to it, and raised the head.

"It's his fadder's son, I'll uphod thee," said Gubblum. "And yon
riff-raff, his spitten picter, is no'but some wastrel merry-begot."

Mercy was down on her knees beside the insensible man, chafing his
hands. There was a tremulous movement of the eyelids.

"Sista, he's coming tul't. Slip away for watter, lass," said Gubblum.

Mercy was gone and back in an instant.

"Let a be, let a be--he'll come round in a crack. Rub his forehead--stir
thy hand, lass--pour t