"It is out of my power to satisfy you," he said; and throwing himself on his knees, he prayed fervently for a few seconds.

At the summit of one of the pillars that supported the crypt were fastened some iron staples; at its foot the attendants piled up some billets of wood, which Burnet was ordered to mount, after being divested of his cassock.

On his wrists were placed a pair of manacles, somewhat resem bling handcuffs, and through the link that connected them was inserted an iron bar. Raising his arms at their request, the bar was laid across the staples above his head, and made fast. Then one by one the billets upon which he stood were withdrawn, and he was left hanging by his wrists.

The pain was most intense. It seemed as though all the blood in his body had rushed to his hands, upon which the whole weight of his body depended; and at the time he thought that the blood was actually bursting from his finger-tips and the backs of his hands.

He uttered gaspingly some feeble words of prayer; but the agony was so acute, that he lapsed after a short time into insensibility.

When he came to himself, he found they had replaced the billets beneath his feet, and one of the gentlemen inquired again if he was willing to confess.

"I neither can nor will," he responded faintly.

The wood was again withdrawn, and his judges, finding that they could obtain no other answer, left him, and waited at the lieutenant's house, sending now and then to know how things were going on in the crypt.

Three or four strong men, with the warder, were left to superintend the torturing; and Jennings, out of kindness, wiped the perspiration from the sufferer's agonized face, imploring him to have pity on himself, and tell the gentlemen what they wanted to know.

Burnet almost inarticulately desired him to hold his peace; and one of those who stood by said in his hearing :

"He will be a cripple all his life, if he lives through it; but he will have to be tortured daily until he confesses."

For four hours he remained in this position. When he fainted, which happened about every half-hour, they supported him; but as soon as he recommenced his prayers, they let him down again. Then Wade came back and asked: "Will you yet obey the commands of the king and the council?"

"No," said Burnet. "What you ask is unlawful: it is therefore vain to ask me."

At least, then, say that you would like to speak to the secretary."

"I have nothing to say to him more than I have said already."

Hang there till you rot!" said Wade; and turning his back, went away in a rage.

By that time all the commissioners had left the Tower; and as the bell now began to sound as a signal for closing the gates for the night, the attendants helped Burnet down and released him. But he was scarcely able to stand; and being almost carried back to his apartment by the warder, he lay motionless and helpless throughout the night.

This treatment was renewed at intervals during the two following days; and the lieutenant, finding Burnet's resolution still unshaken, left him to recover his strength as best he could.

CHAPTER XVI.-AN ESCAPE FROM THE TOWER.

THE Tower of London formerly occupied the south-eastern corner of the city, of which it formed the chief bulwark. High above all its lowlier surroundings, the mighty keep, assailed in vain by time and storm for nearly a thousand years, still rears its massive front, solid and threatening as when the Norman, in his pride of conquest, first set it there to overawe and control his turbulent subjects. It was said, probably with truth, to be impregnable, and we believe that no record exists of its ever having been taken by assault.

On three sides of its extensive walls ran the broad, deep moat, and along the fourth there flowed the river on whose banks it stood. Like all feudal strongholds, it was entirely isolated. The main gateway, defended by drawbridge and portcullis, has been known for centuries as the Bloody Tower, and its sole remaining inlet, facing the river, bears the equally significant appellation of Traitors' Gate.

Its vast area teems with memories of deeds of craft and violence. Royalty itself has therein bowed its neck to the headsman, or bared its bosom to the assassin's steel. Nobles, whose broad lands excited the envy of their rulers; priests and monks, who incurred the tyrant's wrath by clinging to the faith that he had abandoned; women, and even children, have been foully done to death in its gloomy dungeons, or upon the ensanguined Tower-green.

Palace, prison, and fortress: its every stone deep-dyed with blood, its atmosphere burdened with crime and oppression, reeking of the axe and scaffold, it remains a gaunt monument of human injustice and cruelty; its memories are those of the graveyard and charnel-house; and, as with busy finger we search the pages of its ghastly records, unable to point to a single period when happiness reigned within its ill-omened walls.

The very chapel of the Tower, crowded with the headless

trunks of unnumbered victims, is with strange irony dedicated to St. Peter's Chains!

It was with little difficulty that Pouch ascertained whither the Jesuit had been transferred, and, as frequently as he dared, he might be found making a circuit of the Tower, and anxiously scanning its walls in the faint hope of being rewarded by a glimpse of the prisoner it held fast in its strong embrace.

Father Burnet was confined in one of the bastions on the eastern side of the fortress; and from the narrow loophole that lighted his cell he could see, beyond the moat, the little village of St. Katharine's and the green hedgerows and fields that skirted it.

He had been there about three months, and now, as the March winds were beginning to abate something of their sharpness, the trees were putting forth their leaves and giving promise of a genial spring.

Once or twice he had noticed a figure that, despite the disguising cloak, he recognised as that of his faithful friend, and he had watched patiently for its re-appearance.

His contented demeanour and cheerful aspect had won the commiseration of his gaoler, and the man had evinced a desire to lighten, as far as lay in his power, the irksomeness of his confinement. Burnet had corresponded several times with Gower in the Clink; and the gaoler, for a small consideration, readily agreed to fetch and carry between the two Jesuits.

Some oranges that Jennings brought to him suggested to Burnet a very simple project, that he proceeded to put into execution. Out of the peel he fashioned some rosaries and crosses, and fastening them together by a silken cord, wrapped them in paper, and consigned them to the gaoler for transmission to the Clink, as little mementoes for his friends there. With the aid of a pen, made from a toothpick he had begged of the gaoler, he wrote in orange juice any matters that he did not consider it prudent to entrust otherwise to his obliging messenger; and as the writing only became visible upon the paper being held to the fire, there was nothing to arouse the man's suspicions.

Father Gower replied in the same way; and mentioning in one of his notes that Pouch had been a frequent visitor to the Tower of late, Burnet gave a description of the precise situation of his prison; and to enable Pouch to distinguish it, promised to wave his handkerchief at the loophole, every day as the Tower clock sounded the hour of twelve.

Pouch was on the point of giving up his search in despair when this welcome intelligence reached him. He had been so unremitting in his daily attendance at the Tower, ostensibly to view the curiosities therein displayed to sightseers, that he became apprehensive of exciting suspicion by his frequent visits. Among the other attractions, there was a small collection of wild

animals, a great rarity at the time, which included some exceedingly woebegone-looking lions, that were usually stretched at full length on the floor of their cage, with their heads sadly resting on their forepaws, as though captivity had broken their spirits. The air of the Tower seemed to agree but ill with things, whether of beasts or men. He had even got on speaking terms with the keeper of the beasts; but the man was unable to give him any information about prisoners, other than those he tended.

In the course of his perambulations round the building, it had occurred to Pouch that if an escape were possible at all, it could be effected only on the eastern side, where the moat was comparatively narrow; and when, a day or two later, he observed Burnet's signal, which he dare not answer, he drew his breath hard, and walked rapidly away with an elated smile. But he returned to the same spot again and again during the day, silently noting every feature of the place; and then, as darkness approached, gave a farewell look towards Burnet's prison, and betook himself to the Clink.

A brief conference with Father-Gower resulted in the despatch of a missive to Burnet, asking his opinion to the scheme. But the priest, although admitting that it was quite practicable, declined to commit himself to the hazardous undertaking without the consent of the Provincial; and upon being assured of the cordial approval of that personage, provided that Burnet did not risk his life, it was finally decided that the attempt should be made.

The roof of the tower wherein he was confined was flat and battlemented; and under pretence of enjoying the air, Burnet obtained permission to walk in this small enclosure. There was little space for exercise, but a grateful and expansive view could be obtained from the summit of the country eastward of the city. Beyond the little village below, the more verdant hamlet of Shadwell (or St. Chad's Well) was visible, and the pleasant plains of Mile End. To his left, reaching far and wide, lay the Spitalfields, once the appanage of St. Mary's Hospital, a forgotten monastic house of charity, suppressed nearly a century before; and far away into the dim distance, almost as far as the eye could reach, stretched cornfields and meadows, dotted here and there with scattered farms, or the residences of the opulent, unti! the vista was closed by the well-wooded northern heights of London.

The view is somewhat circumscribed now; and it would not be easy to find in the dusty, noisy streets that cover the enormous area the overgrown city occupies, a single tree or blade of grass to break the monotony that is the pervading feature of the metropolis of to-day.

Some anxious days passed slowly by, during which Pouch was very busy making the necessary preparations; but the

arrangements were completed at last, a small ship engaged to convey the fugitive to the French coast, and the long-expected night at length arrived.

Before the hour agreed upon, Burnet, having made a small bundle of the books he possessed, and which he was not willing to leave behind, took his stand on the roof of his tower.

The stillness of the night was unbroken, except by the slow and regular footfall of the sentry, who paced the deserted path, way that extended along the river front of the Tower.

Looking downwards, Burnet could hardly repress a cold shudder at the turbid moat over which he leaned, and in the darkness, the distance from the opposite bank seemed increased.

He heard the plash of oars, and a boat grounded on the beach. It was Pouch and two friends whose aid he had secured; and Burnet could barely distinguish their forms that now appeared above the wall on the opposite side of the moat. A low, cautious signal was given, and Burnet waved his handkerchief in response.

Then taking in his hand a ball of lead attached to a string, he threw it with all his force. It did not reach the spot where Pouch stood, but fell with a loud splash into the moat. Their heads instantly disappeared, and after waiting a few moments, he drew the lead in carefully. He could hear a faint whisper of encouragement, and grasping the ball, he flung it a second time. It flew over their heads; but they seized it, and fastening it securely to a heavy rope they had brought with them, signalled to him to draw it up.

The rope was hauled across by means of the string, and Burnet coiled it round a heavy piece of ordnance that was placed in position on the tower, but without knotting it, as their intention was to draw it away after he had effected his escape. He called to them in a whisper that all was secure, and Pouch fastened the other end firmly to the stem of a tree, making the rope thoroughly

taut.

All was now ready for his descent; but Burnet observed that, owing to the width of the moat, the rope seemed to stretch almost horizontally, so that he would be unable to get along it by his own weight, without propelling himself by some exertion on his part. To satisfy himself of this fact, he first placed the bundle of books on the rope to ascertain whether it would slide down of itself, but it stuck fast at once. He threw it aside, and hastily commending himself to the protection of Heaven, took the rope with his right hand, passed his left firmly round it, and with his face downwards, descended a few feet.

Scarcely daring to breathe, Pouch watched his progress in an agony of suspense. So slow and painful were the priest's movements that he was hardly able to make any progress at all. As yet he had not traversed a third of the distance, and his weight rendered the rope so dangerously slack, that the accomplishment