Reaching the garret, he tried the handle of the door, without
effect. Knocking and calling produced no response, and within all
was perfectly quiet. Hesitating no longer, he drew back as far as
the wall would allow him, and ran with his foot against the door.
The rotten woodwork cracked, and a second onset forced the lock
away. In the middle of the floor Waymark lay, just as Slimy had left
him nearly twenty-four hours ago. Abraham scarcely ventured to draw
near; there was no motion in the fettered body, and he dreaded to
look closely at the face. Before he could overcome this momentary
fear, there was a quick step behind him, and, with a smothered cry,
Ida had rushed into the room. She was on her knees beside Waymark,
her face close down to his.
"He is alive!" she cried. "His eyes have opened. A knife! Cut these
cords!"
That was soon accomplished, but Waymark lay motionless; he showed
that he understood what was going on, but he was quite blind, his
voice had all but gone, and a dead man could as soon have risen. Ida
still knelt by him, chafing one of his hands; when he tried to
speak, she gently raised his head and let it rest upon her lap. In a
few minutes Abraham had procured a glass of spirits, and, after
drinking this, Waymark was able to make himself understood.
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