“Oh,” said Mavis.
But when Ulfin came with the next meal—did I tell you that the Jailer’s son’s name was Ulfin?—Mavis asked him the same question.
“I don’t know—little land-lady,” said Ulfin, “but I will find out—my uncle is the Keeper of the National Archives, graven on tables of stone, so many that no one can count them, but there are smaller tables telling what is on the big ones—” he hesitated. “If I could get leave to show you the Hall of the Archives, would you promise not to try to escape?”
They had now been shut up for two days and would have promised anything in reason.
“You see, the prisons are quite full now,” he said, “and I don’t see why you shouldn’t be the first to get your leaves-tickets. I’ll ask my father.”
“I say!” said Mavis.
“What do you say?” said Ulfin.
“Do you know anything about my sister?”
“The Queen’s new lap-child? Oh—she’s a great pet—her gold collar with her name on it came home today. My cousin’s brother-in-law made it.”
“The name—Kathleen?” said Mavis.