The Slowcoach Part 16

"Your hiding-place is close at hand," she said, and looked again at the ring.

It was certainly her father's; she had often seen it on his hand. And Bevis, too! No, there could be no longer any doubt as to the stranger's genuineness. At least, if there were, she banished it forthwith, for, moving swiftly to the door, she locked it, and then, crossing the room to the fireplace, held up the light and revealed a portrait of an elderly man in Elizabethan costume.

"My great-grandfather," she said, "with whom, as I will show you, liberties have been taken."

So saying, she climbed on a chair, and, reaching upward, pressed her finger against the portrait's right eye. As she did so, a spring was set in motion, and the picture slid upwards, taking the top line of the heavy oak frame with it, and leaving the remaining three sides in their place, disclosing a cavity in the wall.

"Climb in there," Barbara said, handing the candle to the stranger, "and turn sharp to the right, and then to the left, and you will come to an iron door, which rises and falls like a portcullis. The handle is of no use, but on the ceiling you will see the motto, _'Nil desperandum,'_ which you must take as counsel offered to yourself.

Press the s.p.a.ce in the centre of the D, and the door will open."

The stranger did so.

"Now," Barbara called to him, "wait a little, and I will bring you food."

She replaced the picture, and sought the kitchen, soon returning with the remains of a pasty and a flask of Rhenish, which, after again touching the spring, she handed up to her guest. He took them, and disappeared into the pa.s.sage, whither, with the a.s.sistance of a chair and a scramble, Barbara followed him.

The room was a minute but very complete retreat. A little bed stood in the corner, and by its side a tiny table and chair, on which were writing materials.

"To-morrow, sir," said Barbara, "I will come and inquire after you. You want sleep now. I wish you good rest and good fortune." And, so saying, she left him.

G.o.dFREY FAIRFAX PAUSED AGAIN. "WELL," SHE SAID, "DO YOU STILL LIKE IT?"

"VERY MUCH," SAID JANET.

"IT'S VERY EXCITING," SAID MARY.

"I LIKE THE HIDING-PLACE," SAID GREGORY.

"WE'VE JUST SEEN ONE AT SALFORD HALL--ONLY THAT WAS FOR PRIESTS--INSIDE A CHINA CUPBOARD. I GOT IN IT. THE PICTURE'S MUCH BETTER."

"DO YOU LIKE IT?" MISS REDSTONE SAID TO ROBERT.

"PRETTY WELL," HE ANSWERED; AND THEY ALL LAUGHED.

"DON'T LAUGH," SAID MISS REDSTONE; "THAT'S JUST THE KIND OF REMARK I WANT. NOW TAKE SOME MORE CAKE, ALL OF YOU, AND I WILL GO ON."

Barbara awoke almost with the birds, after two or three hours of fitful sleep, and with a rush came the memory of last night's events. Her first thought was for the quick and safe departure of the stranger, and weariness of head told her it was time to seek advice.

"Oh, if father were here!" was the burden of her thoughts. But he was far away, and the immediate question was whom to ask for help. She ticked off the neighbouring gentlemen, and decided against them one by one. Old Digger was useless. Matthew Hale was sound, but stupid.

Everything pointed to her brother Philip.

No sooner had she made up her mind than Barbara turned to her writing-table and penned a laborious letter to the Rev. Jeremy. Poor Barbara! Spelling was not her strongest point, nor, indeed, did anyone then mind whether spelling was good or bad. She wrote as follows:

DEARE AND REVEREND SIR,

"My father has riden to London and I would faine not be without manlie companie in so grate an house (olde Digger being worthie and trustie but a lyttel deaf and stiffe). Therefor I pray you let me have my brother Philip and his friends for this daye that I may be more at mine ease.

"Your servant, BARBARA MYDDELTON.

Having sanded and folded the paper Barbara awakened Jack.

"Jack!" she called, shaking him in his bed. "Jack, I have an errand for you. Jump up quickly and dress, and then saddle Roger, and I will get you some food, and then you must ride at a gallop to Framshott to Mr.

Fullarton's, and he will send back Philip with you, and Hugh and Vernon and Rupert."

Having seen the little fellow off, Barbara set the servants to work on a business that would keep them remote from the library, and then visited her guest. She first knocked three times on the chimney--a sign that had been agreed on. After a minute had pa.s.sed he replied, and, having made certain that no one could enter or see into the library, Barbara removed the picture and waited.

The young man immediately sprang into the room.

"Good morrow, sir," said Barbara simply, with a curtsey.

"Good morrow, fair hostess and preserving angel," said the young man, with a bow.

"We must come to business at once," said Barbara, and forthwith she told him of her message to her brother. "Philip is very young," she added, "but true as steel, and his head is older than his years."

"Good," said the stranger, and he unfolded his plans. That night he must embark for France. He was expected by the master of the _Antelope,_ a schooner lying all ready to weigh anchor at Portallan, the harbour twelve miles distant. She would sail by the night tide, with or without him. It was understood that, if he were not there, evil had befallen him.

"Everything depends," he explained, "on my departure to-night. The cause hangs upon it. A blight on my evil luck!" he cried. "Were Colonel Myddelton at home, I should not be fleeing from my own country empty-handed. I shall be writing to him most of this day, but a spoken word is worth a volume of pen stuff."

It was arranged at length that as soon as the dusk came three of the boys, with the stranger wearing the clothes of the fourth, should ride out, ostensibly on the return to the schoolhouse.

Thus, no suspicion would be aroused, and, once in the road, it would be simple to turn the horses' heads towards the sea and gain the harbour.

That settled, Barbara gave breakfast to her guest, and he returned to his hidingplace for the rest of the weary day with a store of candles and an armful of books and paper.

Two hours later the boys rode in, all excitement, and Barbara watched them attack the loaded breakfast-table. Philip's friends were, of course, all devoted to this grave, sweet girl, although not bitter rivals.

"Philip dear," said Barbara swiftly, when, after breakfast, she had drawn her brother into her room and locked the door "there is in the castle at this moment a messenger from the Prince, who has come to see our father on grave business. You can guess what such business would be. He dare not follow him to London, and must leave to-night for the nearest seaport, his errand all unperformed. I sent for you and your friends because the gentleman is our guest, and must be treated with courtesy and care. He is unattended, and the countryside is alive with traitors. You and your friends will protect him to-night, will you not?"

"To the death," said Philip.

"Ah, I knew!" said his sister proudly.

"Barbara," exclaimed Philip, "it was fine of you to send for us!" And he hugged her mightily. "But where is the gentleman?"

"In hiding," she answered; "but mind, not a word of this to the others.

Tell them enough to stop questions. Not a soul knows he is here save you and me. Later they must know, for one of you will have to lend him clothes. Only three of you can ride as his guard."

"But, Barbara," cried Philip in alarm, "it is not I who will stay behind? It could not be. I am his host. And what build of man is he, Barbara? Say he is not my size."

"No, Phil dear; he is taller by a hand's breadth."

"Ah," sighed Philip, with intense relief, "then it must be Rupert! Poor Rupert!"

"Now," said Barbara, "forget all about it, and have a good holiday with the boys. The evening is distant yet."

"I wish it were here!" Phil exclaimed fervently as he ran off.