“Look,” said Chaleco, holding his lantern down that I might examine the tessellated pattern worked in with colored marbles. “Should the old house be inhabited at any time, and you wish to seek the tower yonder, press your hand upon this little flag of verd-antique, the only block of that noble stone that you will find here. See how easily it works!”
He touched the diagonal fragment, and instantly the centre of the floor sunk an inch or two and wheeled inward, leaving a circular entrance and a glimpse of the winding stairs we had just mounted, where a large mosaic star had a moment before formed a centre to the radiating pattern of the pavement.
“You understand,” he said, wheeling the star back to its place, “this passage may yet be of use, who knows? At any rate, it is our secret. I found the passage and blocked up the turret door. No one remembers much about the old house now, and the change will never be noticed. No human soul that ever breathed here, save you and I, are alive; and my lady countess must take the old pile as she finds it. Twenty years of ruin will make changes; the birds and I have held possession a long time,” he added, lifting his eyes to the rooks’ nests that blackened the topmost boughs of a group of elms just above us.
CHAPTER XLVIII.
OUR FLIGHT FROM MARSTON COURT.
In the shadow of these elm trees two horses were standing, one equipped for a lady. They tossed their heads as we came up and backed restively from the light.
“They are fresh as larks, you see,” said Chaleco, patting the near horse with his hand. “So, so, Jerald, is this the way you stand fire?” and he swung the lantern full in the creature’s face, which made him rear and plunge backward. “Come, Zana.”
I stepped forward, and with a laugh Chaleco lifted me to the saddle.
“There is the true blood again,” he muttered, smoothing down my skirt, while I gathered up the bridle.
A pair of leathern saddle-bags, such as were often used by travellers in those times, were swung across Chaleco’s saddle. They contained, he told me, the clothes I had brought in one end, and the bronze coffer in the other.
While he arranged these saddle-bags, I sat upon my horse looking gloomily around. It was a dull, cloudy night. The dense masses of foliage seemed like embankments of ebony. All around was still and dark as chaos, save the elm-tree boughs overhead, that began to bend and quake beneath the disturbed rooks that swept back and forth among them, sending out their unearthly caws. They seemed like dark spirits calling out from the blackness, “go, go, go!”