“Yes,” he said; “fairly, it is. ’Tis pierced under the big copper in the kitchen, which has a detachable grate to be pulled all out in one piece. God knows the original use of this contrivance—this space in the wall—unless ’twere always for the purpose that we”—(he checked himself again). “Anyhow, ’tis utterly inaccessible else, save by way of the skylight which your ladyship knows; and now you’re acquainted with your prison, ask me further what you will.”
“Ranger Portlock, did you say?”
“Ay, ranger; once my brother’s keeper (not like Cain, unhappily), and since promoted.”
“You seem to love your brother.”
“I have reason.”
“And this Portlock is still in his service?”
“Yes.”
“And in your confidence?”
“Ay, is he not! I must tell you I am a proper sportsman, madam, and always more popular with Hardrough’s people than the noble verderer himself. Well, I have taught them something here and there, and put money in their pockets, maybe. Have no fear. Not Portlock nor any other will betray us. I have my merry men of Down, who sink or swim with me. And now I have my Maid Marian. What more? You shall see this Portlock. Bear in mind he was once a thread-paper of a man. I have known him since I was a boy. What else?”
“Can you ask me?” I said low, hanging my head. “The reason—what you hinted up there—why you are ruined and in hiding?”