“There is no lack of potables,” says my candle-bearer; “but, unhappily, there is never so much as a dry crust to soak in them.  And as for the horses, I’ll venture they’d give it all, pint for pint, for a good feeding of oats.”

“Truly,” said I; and then we fell to stripping the straw casings from the bottles of madeira to give the poor beasts a feed of rye-stalks which had grown and ripened their grain many a year before either the sorrel or the gray was foaled.

Having no time-measure save our own impatience, it seemed a weary while before we heard the key rasping in the lock of our prison door.

“’Tis Madge,” said Dick, with a true lover’s gift of second sight; and ’twas he who went to help her swing the thick-slabbed oak.

What passed between them I did not hear, nor want to hear.  But when the door was swung to and locked again I knew we were not free to go abroad.

Richard came back to me in the inner vault bearing gifts; the better part of a boiled ham with bread to match, a jug of water from the well, and more candles.

“We are not to starve, but that is our best news, thus far,” he said.  “Of all the houses on our side of the river, Lord Cornwallis must needs pitch upon this manor of Appleby for his rallying headquarters.  Madge can not guess when he and the army will be gone, and she is frighted stiff for our sakes.”

This was sober news, indeed, but we could do naught but make the best of it.  As for me, I was most anxious to know if the good priest were at Appleby, and what of my chance for seeing him; but of this I could say no word to Richard.

So, when we had done full justice to my lady’s bounty, we stowed the horses in the deepest of the vaults and stripped more of the bottle coverings for them.  But having only the jug of water, we could do no more than swab their mouths out with a wetted kerchief in lieu of giving them a drink.

When all was done we sat ourselves down to wait as we must; and when the silence and solitude had wrought their perfect work, we fell to talking in low tones to match the place and circumstance; and I do think in those quiet hours, walled in as we were from all the disturbments of the outer world, we came closer than we had come for many months.

And while we sat and talked the long day wore on to evening and a storm came on, as we could determine, though no otherwise than by the muffled rolling of the thunder which, since we could not see the lightning nor hear the rain, we took at first for the booming of distant cannon.

I can not tell you all we spoke of in that day-long immurement.  There was some talk of the great struggle for independence, now, though we knew it not, drawing near to its close; and there was much of reminiscence, harking back to the exciting and tragic scenes in which we two had had our entrances and our exits.  Also, there was a tribute paid to the memory of our true old friend and trusted comrade in arms, Ephraim Yeates, so lately gone to his own place.  ’Twas at this time I learned what of the old man’s gifts and peculiarities I have hereinbefore set down; for Richard had known him long and well.