A general cheer and cry of "Long live Lord Mowbray!" responded to this largesse.
"I knew," continued the young nobleman, "that we should understand each other. The manner in which you have split my door has given me a high opinion of your ability in case of an emergency, and it appears that we should accomplish great results, were I your leader.—Stay! There is, hard by, the residence of a papist, which ought to be sacked. I have a mind to lead you thither myself. It is not that I owe the papists any particular grudge, but I am ready to labor for honor's sake, and for the love of the art."
The enthusiastic cries burst forth anew. Reuben could not but feel that his day was over, and that henceforth Lord Mowbray was the true master of his men. With a haughty, sullen air he turned towards the door.
"I reserve my suspicions," he said. "We shall meet again, Lord Mowbray."
"One moment, if you please. I reproach myself with having concealed something from you. There is a chamber in this house which has escaped your examination."
Saying which, he moved a small picture and pressed an invisible button. One of the panels in the wainscoting shot upward without a sound, like the curtain of a theatre, revealing a narrow passage. Mowbray led the way, Reuben following him. After a few steps he found himself in a circular apartment furnished with extraordinary richness and taste. From the ceiling fell a rosy radiance, soft, tender, and faint, vaguely illumining the tapestries with which the walls were draped, upon which were represented rare subjects derived from Boccaccio. The feet sank into a rich carpet as into the sward of glades which no human step has ever pressed. The low rounded furniture seemed fashioned to render the fall of a body insensible and silent.
Ere Reuben had had time to cast his glance about the apartment the panel had fallen into place, leaving no more suggestion of a door than a wall of polished steel. Mowbray had vanished, and Marsham was alone. In an excess of rage he flung himself against the wall with all his might, he scratched it with his nails and beat upon it with his clinched fists.
Ten feet above his head a peephole opened, in which was framed the mocking face of Mowbray.
"You are giving yourself needless exertion," he remarked. "The panel will defy all your efforts. No one can hear you, and no one will release you before to-morrow morning. A night of seclusion in so charming a place is scarcely cruel chastisement enough for your insolence, more especially as this prison saves you from another. At this moment they are searching for Reuben Marsham high and low, but truly such a boudoir as this is preferable to a cell in Newgate. Therefore be resigned, and seek some means of passing the time. Ah, I forgot. You will find a venison pie and a bottle of Canary wine upon the table at your left.—And now, good night!"