“And thou thoughtest that servants slept in this room, and dared not show thyself either by day or night for fear thou mightest be betrayed!  And only hunger and thirst drove thee forth at length?”

“Ay.  And from my heart do I thank thee for thy kindness, young sir; and gladly will I show thee in return the trick of yon chamber.  If thou canst kindle a torch it will light us better, for the way thither is wondrous tortuous and narrow.”

Bertram had a little lantern—­a very treasured possession of his—­and after the usual tedious process of lighting had been gone through, he softly led the way back to the sleeping chamber.  With his own hands he undid the fastening of the door and saw it swing open, and then the two passed through into a very narrow aperture, which proved to be a long narrow gallery contrived in the thickness of the wall, which would only just admit of the passage of one figure at a time.

As they went in they drew to the door, and the fugitive showed his young companion how the bolt upon the inner side might be unloosed.

“It is easy enow in the light, but hard to feel in the black darkness,” he remarked; and then they pursued their devious way on and on through this strange passage, which wound up and down and in and out, and landed them at last at the foot of a spiral staircase, so narrow and squeezed in by masonry as to be barely serviceable for the purpose for which it was contrived.  It led them to a small door, through which they passed, to find themselves in a room of fair size but very low, and without any window, which seemed to occupy (as indeed it did) a portion of the house between two of the other floors, and was so contrived as to absolutely defy detection be the examination of the structure of the house never so exhaustive.  If the secret door were not found, nothing else would ever betray this cunning hiding-place.  Doubtless that was why, during the many changes that had prevailed at Chad during the past fifty years, the knowledge of its very existence had been lost.

“Air comes in freely through many cracks and slits,” explained the prisoner.  “It is not an unpleasant place save in the heat of the middle day, when it becomes like a veritable oven.  That is why my thirst was so unbearable.  There is a bed, as thou seest, and a chair and a few other things.  One could be comfortable here were it not for starvation and thirst.”

“I will feed thee so long as thou remainest hid,” cried the boy, with generous ardour.  “Thou shalt hide there by day, and by night shalt wander abroad an thou wilt, to breathe the air and stretch thy limbs.  My brothers and I will be thy friends.  Thou needst fear nothing now.  We will find out when it is safe for thee to leave thy retreat, and then thou shalt go forth without fear; or, if thou likest it better, thou shalt abide here till our father returns and take service with him.  I doubt not he would be glad enow to number a Warbel again amongst his trusty servants.”