"Harry, something is the matter," she said.
"Something is the matter, Celia," repeated Harry. "I have brought you here to tell it you."
"What did you see on the terrace?" she asked, fearfully.
"Sir Edward Ingram," was the answer.
"Harry! where is he? why did you not tell me?"
"Nobody must know, Celia, except you and me—and, perhaps, Patient. But I would rather not tell even her if we can avoid it. Sir Edward is in hiding, having fled from Sheriffmuir, and a party of men have been riding him down, he says, since last night. They know he is somewhere in the neighborhood, and will most likely be here to search the house in an hour or less. I will readily risk my life for the man who saved it at Denain; and I know his sister will help me."
"But where can we hide him?" faltered Celia.
"Here," was Harry's short answer, opening the closet-door.
"In the closet? O Harry! that is not safe enough. They would find him in a minute."
"My dear little Celia, you don't know half the secrets of your own chamber. Look!"