Very soon afterwards, my lord and lady went to London with Mr. Holt, leaving, however, the page behind them.  The little man had the great house of Castlewood to himself; or between him and the housekeeper, Mrs. Worksop, an old lady who was a kinswoman of the family in some distant way, and a Protestant, but a staunch Tory and king’s-man, as all the Esmonds were.  He used to go to school to Dr. Tusher when he was at home, though the Doctor was much occupied too.  There was a great stir and commotion everywhere, even in the little quiet village of Castlewood, whither a party of people came from the town, who would have broken Castlewood Chapel windows, but the village people turned out, and even old Sieveright, the republican blacksmith, along with them:  for my lady, though she was a Papist, and had many odd ways, was kind to the tenantry, and there was always a plenty of beef, and blankets, and medicine for the poor at Castlewood Hall.

A kingdom was changing hands whilst my lord and lady were away.  King James was flying, the Dutchmen were coming; awful stories about them and the Prince of Orange used old Mrs. Worksop to tell to the idle little page.

He liked the solitude of the great house very well; he had all the play-books to read, and no Father Holt to whip him, and a hundred childish pursuits and pastimes, without doors and within, which made this time very pleasant.

CHAPTER V.

My superiors are engaged in plots for the restoration of king James II.

Not having been able to sleep, for thinking of some lines for eels which he had placed the night before, the lad was lying in his little bed, waiting for the hour when the gate would be open, and he and his comrade, John Lockwood, the porter’s son, might go to the pond and see what fortune had brought them.  At daybreak John was to awaken him, but his own eagerness for the sport had served as a reveillez long since—­so long, that it seemed to him as if the day never would come.

It might have been four o’clock when he heard the door of the opposite chamber, the Chaplain’s room, open, and the voice of a man coughing in the passage.  Harry jumped up, thinking for certain it was a robber, or hoping perhaps for a ghost, and, flinging open his own door, saw before him the Chaplain’s door open, and a light inside, and a figure standing in the doorway, in the midst of a great smoke which issued from the room.

“Who’s there?” cried out the boy, who was of a good spirit.

“Silentium!” whispered the other; “’tis I, my boy!” and, holding his hand out, Harry had no difficulty in recognizing his master and friend, Father Holt.  A curtain was over the window of the Chaplain’s room that looked to the court, and Harry saw that the smoke came from a great flame of papers which were burning in a brazier when he entered the Chaplain’s room.  After giving a hasty greeting and blessing to the lad, who was charmed to see his tutor, the Father continued the burning of his papers, drawing them from a cupboard over the mantel-piece wall, which Harry had never seen before.