“Not they,” replied Dick. “What make they to-morrow?”

  “To-morrow, or to-night, I know not,” said the other, “but one time or other, Dick, they do intend upon your life. I had the proof of it; I have heard them whisper; nay, they as good as told me.”

  “Ay,” returned Dick, “is it so? I had thought as much.”

  And he told him the day’s occurrences at length.

  When it was done, Matcham arose and began, in turn, to examine the apartment.

  “No,” he said, “there is no entrance visible. Yet ‘tis a pure certainty there is one. Dick, I will stay by you. An y’are to die, I will die with you. And I can help — look! I have stolen a dagger — I will do my best! And meanwhile, an ye know of any issue, any sally-port we could get opened, or any window that we might descend by, I will most joyfully face any jeopardy to flee with you.”

  “Jack,” said Dick, “by the mass, Jack, y’are the best soul, and the truest, and the bravest in all England! Give me your hand, Jack.”

  And he grasped the other’s hand in silence.

  “I will tell you,” he resumed. “There is a window, out of which the messenger descended; the rope should still be in the chamber. ‘Tis a hope.”

  “Hist!” said Matcham.

  Both gave ear. There was a sound below the floor; then it paused, and then began again.

  “Some one walketh in the room below,” whispered Matcham.

  “Nay,” returned Dick, “there is no room below; we are above the chapel. It is my murderer in the secret passage. Well, let him come; it shall go hard with him”; and he ground his teeth.

  “Blow me the lights out,” said the other. “Perchance he will betray himself.”

  They blew out both the lamps and lay still as death. The footfalls underneath were very soft, but they were clearly audible. Several times they came and went; and then there was a loud jar of a key turning in a lock, followed by a considerable silence.

  Presently the steps began again, and then, all of a sudden, a chink of light appeared in the planking of the room in a far corner. It widened; a trap-door was being opened, letting in a gush of light. They could see the strong hand pushing it up; and Dick raised his cross-bow, waiting for the head to follow.

  But now there came an interruption. From a distant corner of the Moat House shouts began to be heard, and first one voice, and then several, crying aloud upon a name. This noise had plainly disconcerted the murderer, for the trap-door was silently lowered to its place, and the steps hurriedly returned, passed once more close below the lads, and died away in the distance.

  Here was a moment’s respite. Dick breathed deep, and then, and not till then, he gave ear to the disturbance which had interrupted the attack, and which was now rather increasing than diminishing. All about the Moat House feet were running, doors were opening and slamming, and still the voice of Sir Daniel towered above all this bustle, shouting for “Joanna.”

  “Joanna!” repeated Dick. “Why, who the murrain should this be? Here is no Joanna, nor ever hath been. What meaneth it?”

  Matcham was silent. He seemed to have drawn further away. But only a little faint starlight entered by the window, and at the far end of the apartment, where the pair were, the darkness was complete.

  “Jack,” said Dick, “I wot not where ye were all day. Saw ye this Joanna?”

  “Nay,” returned Matcham, “I saw her not.”

  “Nor heard tell of her?” he pursued.

  The steps drew nearer. Sir Daniel was still roaring the name of Joanna from the courtyard.

  “Did ye hear of her?” repeated Dick.

  “I heard of her,” said Matcham.

  “How your voice twitters! What aileth you?” said Dick. “‘Tis a most excellent good fortune, this Joanna; it will take their minds from us.”

  “Dick,” cried Matcham, “I am lost; we are both lost. Let us flee if there be yet time. They will not rest till they have found me. Or, see! let me go forth; when they have found me, ye may flee. Let me forth, Dick — good Dick, let me away!”

  She was groping for the bolt, when Dick at last comprehended.

  “By the mass!” he cried, “y’are no Jack; y’are Joanna Sedley; y’are the maid that would not marry me!”

  The girl paused, and stood silent and motionless. Dick, too, was silent for a little; then he spoke again.

  “Joanna,” he said, “y’ ‘ave saved my life, and I have saved yours; and we have seen blood flow, and been friends and enemies — ay, and I took my belt to thrash you; and all that time I thought ye were a boy. But now death has me, and my time’s out, and before I die I must say this: Y’are the best maid and the bravest under heaven, and, if only I could live, I would marry you blithely; and, live or die, I love you.”

  She answered nothing.

  “Come,” he said, “speak up, Jack. Come, be a good maid, and say ye love me!”

  “Why, Dick,” she cried, “would I be here?”

  “Well, see ye here,” continued Dick, “an we but escape whole we’ll marry; and an we’re to die, we die, and there’s an end on’t. But now that I think, how found ye my chamber?”

  “I asked it of Dame Hatch,” she answered.

  “Well, the dame’s staunch,” he answered; “she’ll not tell upon you. We have time before us.”

  And just then, as if to contradict his words, feet came down the corridor, and a fist beat roughly on the door.

  “Here!” cried a voice. “Open, Master Dick; open!”

  Dick neither moved nor answered.

  “It is all over,” said the girl; and she put her arms about Dick’s neck.

  One after another, men came trooping to the door. Then Sir Daniel arrived himself, and there was a sudden cessation of the noise.

  “Dick,” cried the knight, “be not an ass. The Seven Sleepers had been awake ere now. We know she is within there. Open, then, the door, man.”

  Dick was again silent.

  “Down with it,” said Sir Daniel. And immediately his followers fell savagely upon the door with foot and fist. Solid as it was, and strongly bolted, it would soon have given way; but once more fortune interfered. Over the thunder-storm of blows the cry of a sentinel was heard; it was followed by another; shouts ran along the battlements, shouts answered out of the wood. In the first moment of alarm it sounded as if the foresters were carrying the Moat House by assault. And Sir Daniel and his men, desisting instantly from their attack upon Dick’s chamber, hurried to defend the walls.

  “Now,” cried Dick, “we are saved.”

  He seized the great old bedstead with both hands, and bent himself in vain to move it.

  “Help me, Jack. For your life’s sake, help me stoutly!” he cried.

  Between them, with a huge effort, they dragged the big frame of oak across the room, and thrust it endwise to the chamber door.

  “Ye do but make things worse,” said Joanna, sadly. “He will then enter by the trap.”

  “Not so,” replied Dick. “He durst not tell his secret to so many. It is by the trap that we shall flee. Hark! The attack is over. Nay, it was none!”

  It had, indeed, been no attack; it was the arrival of another party of stragglers from the defeat of Risingham that had disturbed Sir Daniel. They had run the gauntlet under cover of the darkness; they had been admitted by the great gate; and now, with a great stamping of hoofs and jingle of accoutrements and arms, they were dismounting in the court.

  “He will return anon,” said Dick. “To the trap!”

  He lighted a lamp, and they went together into the corner of the room. The open chink through which some light still glittered was easily discovered, and, taking a stout sword from his small armoury, Dick thrust it deep into the seam, and weighed strenuously on the hilt. The trap moved, gaped a little, and at length came widely open. Seizing it with their hands, the two young folk threw it back. It disclosed a few steps descending, and at the foot of them, where the would-be murderer had left it, a burning lamp.

  “Now,” said Dick, “go first and take the lamp. I will follow to close the trap.”

  So they descended one after the other, and as Dick lowered the trap, the blows began once again to thunder on the panels of the door.

  * * *

  CHAPTER IV

  THE PASSAGE

  The passage in which Dick and Joanna now found themselves was narrow, dirty, and short. At the other end of it, a door stood partly open; the same door, without doubt, that they had heard the man unlocking. Heavy cobwebs hung from the roof; and the paved flooring echoed hollow under the lightest tread.

  Beyond the door there were two branches, at right angles. Dick chose one of them at random, and the pair hurried, with echoing footsteps, along the hollow of the chapel roof. The top of the arched ceiling rose like a whale’s back in the dim glimmer of the lamp. Here and there were spy-holes, concealed, on the other side, by the carving of the cornice; and looking down through one of these, Dick saw the paved floor of the chapel — the altar, with its burning tapers — and stretched before it on the steps, the figure of Sir Oliver praying with uplifted hands.

  At the other end, they descended a few steps. The passage grew narrower; the wall upon one hand was now of wood; the noise of people talking, and a faint flickering of lights, came through the interstices; and presently they came to a round hole about the size of a man’s eye, and Dick, looking down through it, beheld the interior of the hall, and some half-a-dozen men sitting, in their jacks, about the table, drinking deep and demolishing a venison pie. These were certainly some of the late arrivals.

  “Here is no help,” said Dick. “Let us try back.”

  “Nay,” said Joanna; “maybe the passage goeth farther.”

  And she pushed on. But a few yards farther the passage ended at the top of a short flight of steps; and it became plain that, as long as the soldiers occupied the hall, escape was impossible upon that side.

  They retraced their steps with all imaginable speed, and set forward to explore the other branch. It was exceedingly narrow, scarce wide enough for a large man; and it led them continually up and down by little breakneck stairs, until even Dick had lost all notion of his whereabouts.

  At length it grew both narrower and lower; the stairs continued to descend; the walls on either hand became damp and slimy to the touch; and far in front of them they heard the squeaking and scuttling of the rats.

  “We must be in the dungeons,” Dick remarked.

  “And still there is no outlet,” added Joanna.

  “Nay, but an outlet there must be!” Dick answered.

  Presently, sure enough, they came to a sharp angle, and then the passage ended in a flight of steps. On the top of that there was a solid flag of stone by way of trap, and to this they both set their backs. It was immovable.

  “Some one holdeth it,” suggested Joanna.

  “We must be in the dungeons,” Dick remarked

  “Not so,” said Dick; “for were a man strong as ten, he must still yield a little. But this resisteth like dead rock. There is a weight upon the trap. Here is no issue; and, by my sooth, good Jack, we are here as fairly prisoners as though the gyves were on our ankle bones. Sit ye then down, and let us talk. After awhile we shall return, when perchance they shall be less carefully upon their guard; and, who knoweth? we may break out and stand a chance. But, in my poor opinion, we are as good as shent.”

  “Dick!” she cried, “alas the day that ever ye should have seen me! For like a most unhappy and unthankful maid, it is I have led you hither.”

  “What cheer!” returned Dick. “It was all written, and that which is written, willy nilly, cometh still to pass. But tell me a little what manner of a maid ye are, and how ye came into Sir Daniel’s hands; that will do better than to bemoan yourself, whether for your sake or mine.”

  “I am an orphan, like yourself, of father and mother,” said Joanna; “and for my great misfortune, Dick, and hitherto for yours, I am a rich marriage. My Lord Foxham had me to ward; yet it appears Sir Daniel bought the marriage of me from the king, and a right dear price he paid for it. So here was I, poor babe, with two great and rich men fighting which should marry me, and I still at nurse! Well, then the world changed, and there was a new chancellor, and Sir Daniel bought the warding of me over the Lord Foxham’s head. And then the world changed again, and Lord Foxham bought my marriage over Sir Daniel’s; and from then to now it went on ill betwixt the two of them. But still Lord Foxham kept me in his hands, and was a good lord to me. And at last I was to be married — or sold, if ye like it better. Five hundred pounds Lord Foxham was to get for me. Hamley was the groom’s name, and to-morrow, Dick, of all days in the year, was I to be betrothed. Had it not come to Sir Daniel, I had been wedded, sure — and never seen thee, Dick — dear Dick!”

  And here she took his hand, and kissed it, with the prettiest grace; and Dick drew her hand to him and did the like.

  “Well,” she went on, “Sir Daniel took me unawares in the garden, and made me dress in these men’s clothes, which is a deadly sin for a woman; and, besides, they fit me not. He rode with me to Kettley, as ye saw, telling me I was to marry you; but I, in my heart, made sure I would marry Hamley in his teeth.”

  “Ay!” cried Dick, “and so ye loved this Hamley!”

  “Nay,” replied Joanna, “not I. I did but hate Sir Daniel. And then, Dick, ye helped me, and ye were right kind, and very bold, and my heart turned towards you in mine own despite; and now, if we can in any way compass it, I would marry you with right good-will. And if, by cruel destiny, it may not be, still ye’ll be dear to me. While my heart beats, it’ll be true to you.”

  “And I,” said Dick, “that never cared a straw for any manner of woman until now, I took to you when I thought ye were a boy. I had a pity to you, and knew not why. When I would have belted you, the hand failed me. But when ye owned ye were a maid, Jack — for still I will call you Jack — I made sure ye were the maid for me. Hark!” he said, breaking off — ”one cometh.”

  And indeed a heavy tread was now audible in the echoing passage, and the rats again fled in armies.

  Dick reconnoitred his position. The sudden turn gave him a post of vantage. He could thus shoot in safety from the cover of the wall. But it was plain the light was too near him, and, running some way forward, he set down the lamp in the middle of the passage, and then returned to watch.

  Presently, at the far end of the passage, Bennet hove in sight. He seemed to be alone, and he carried in his hand a burning torch, which made him the better mark.

  “Stand, Bennet!” cried Dick. “Another step, and y’are dead.”

  “So here ye are,” returned Hatch, peering forward into the darkness. “I see you not. Aha! y’ ‘ave done wisely, Dick; y’ ‘ave put your lamp before you. By my sooth, but, though it was done to shoot my own knave body, I do rejoice to see ye profit of my lessons! And now, what make ye? what seek ye here? Why would ye shoot upon an old, kind friend? And have ye the young gentlewoman there?”

  “Nay, Bennet, it is I should question and you answer,” replied Dick. “Why am I in this jeopardy of my life? Why do men come privily to slay me in my bed? Why am I now fleeing in mine own guardian’s strong house, and from the friends that I have lived among and never injured?”

  “Master Dick, Master Dick,” said Bennet, “what told I you? Y’are brave, but the most uncrafty lad that I can think upon!”

  “Well,” returned Dick, “I see ye know all, and that I am doomed indeed. It is well. Here, where I am, I stay. Let Sir Daniel get me out if he be able!”

  Hatch was silent for a space.

  “Hark ye,” he began, “I return to Sir Daniel, to tell him where ye are, and how posted; for, in truth, it was to that end he sent me. But you, if ye are no fool, had best be gone ere I return.”

  “Be gone!” repeated Dick. “I would be gone already, an I wist how. I cannot move the trap.”

  “Put me your hand into the corner, and see what ye find there,” replied Bennet. “Throgmorton’s rope is still in the brown chamber. Fare ye well.”

  And Hatch, turning upon his heel, disappeared again into the windings of the passage.

  Dick instantly returned for his lamp, and proceeded to act upon the hint. At one corner of the trap there was a deep cavity in the wall. Pushing his arm into the aperture, Dick found an iron bar, which he thrust vigorously upwards. There followed a snapping noise, and the slab of stone instantly started in its bed.

  They were free of the passage. A little exercise of strength easily raised the trap; and they came forth into a vaulted chamber, opening on one hand upon the court, where one or two fellows, with bare arms, were rubbing down the horses of the last arrivals. A torch or two, each stuck in an iron ring against the wall, changefully lit up the scene.

  * * *

  CHAPTER V

  HOW DICK CHANGED SIDES

  Dick, blowing out his lamp lest it should attract attention, led the way up-stairs and along the corridor. In the brown chamber the rope had been made fast to the frame of an exceeding heavy and ancient bed. It had not been detached, and Dick, taking the coil to the window, began to lower it slowly and cautiously into the darkness of the night. Joan stood by; but as the rope lengthened, and still Dick continued to pay it out, extreme fear began to conquer her resolution.

  “Dick,” she said, “is it so deep? I may not essay it. I should infallibly fall, good Dick.”

  It was just at the delicate moment of the operations that she spoke. Dick started; the remainder of the coil slipped from his grasp, and the end fell with a splash into the moat. Instantly, from the battlement above, the voice of a sentinel cried, “Who goes?”

  “A murrain!” cried Dick. “We are paid now! Down with you — take the rope.”

  “I cannot,” she cried, recoiling.

  “An ye cannot, no more can I,” said Shelton. “How can I swim the moat without you? Do you desert me, then?”