While I stood, boots in hand, she found a makeshift candlestick and in a trice had spread me a pallet on an ancient oaken settle big enough to serve for a choir stall in a cathedral.

“You’ll be safe here for the night, if so be you will make no more noise than a rat might make,” she whispered. “Mais, mon Dieu! ’tis a terrible risk.  How you will get off in the morning I do not know.”

“Leave that to me,” I rejoined.  Then I remembered the portmanteau and the promise that it should be sent hither.  Here was a further complication, and I must needs beg a boon of her.  “A black boy will bring my portmanteau in the morning.  I have a decent desire to be hanged in clean clothing; may I beg you to—­”

She made a quick little gesture of impatience; at the further complication, or at my boldness in asking, I knew not which.  But her whispered reply was of assent, and then she turned to leave me.

At that a sudden fierce desire to know why she had thus befriended me came to throttle prudence.

“One more word before you go, Mistress Margery.  Will you tell me why you have done this for the man who can serve you only by thrusting his neck into the hangman’s noose?”

She was silent for a little space, and I knew not what emotion it was that moved her to turn away and cover her face with her hands.  But when she spoke her voice was low and tremulous with pent-up anger, as I thought.

“Truly, Captain Ireton, you have done a thing to make me hate you—­and myself, as well.  But I may not forget my duty, sir.”

And with this cruel word she was gone.

XXXIII

IN WHICH I HEAR CHANCEFUL TIDINGS

You are not to suppose that the hazards of this hiding place in my Lord Cornwallis’s headquarters would keep me from sleeping well and soundly.  One of the things a soldier learns soonest is to take his rest when and as he can; and after peering curiously into the nooks and corners of my garret to make sure I was alone, I flung myself a-sprawl on the broad settle and was dropping off into forgetfulness when I heard a tapping at the wainscot.

It fetched me wide awake with a start, and I was up and weaponed instantly—­having taken the precaution to lay my sword in easy reach before blowing out the candle.  Groping my way cautiously to the secret door, I crouched and listened.  All was silent save for the intermittent clamor of the wassailers in the room beneath.  After waiting a full minute I opened the door and looked without.  The high dormer window in the end of the corridor made the darkness something less than visible, and I could see that the passage was empty.  But on the floor at my feet was my supper; a roasted fowl on a server, hot from the spit, with maize bread and garnishings fit for an epicure.