"I think not, dear Lady Margaret," replied Lord Beverley, with a smile at what he thought her want of experience in such matters.
"We will see," she answered, advancing to the other side of the room, where stood a huge antique fireplace, with a chimney-piece of rich wrought stone. "No moving pictures, no sliding panels here," said Lady Margaret; "but place your hand upon that pillar, my good lord, and push it strongly--more strongly towards the hearth. There," she continued, as the whole mass swung back, displaying an aperture large enough for a man to pass, but not without stooping; "you will find a bolt within which will make it as fast as masonry. The stairs lead you into rooms below, where no one can come without my leave. You shall be supplied with all you want.--But, hark! On my life, they have let the men in! Quick, my lord, and bolt the door. I will send somebody soon but I must go down lest those girls make some mistake if questioned."
Lord Beverley entered at once, and feeling over the face of the stone for the bolt, pushed it home, and made the whole secure. He then paused and listened, waiting patiently for several minutes. At first he could hear no sound in the remote and well-covered place where he was concealed; but at length he caught the noise of voices and steps running hither and thither in the house. They came near, passed away into other chambers on the left, returned, sounded in the passage, and then in the adjoining room. He could perceive that several men entered, examined the wainscot, tried every panel, moved every article of furniture, and at length shook the mantel-piece and the stone pillars on either side of the chimney; but the bolt held close and fast, and the receding steps showed him that these unwelcome visiters had turned their course elsewhere.
[CHAPTER XXXII.]
Good Lady Margaret Langley had seen troublous days, and was well fitted by a strong understanding to deal with them; but one of the advantages of misfortune, if I may use so strange a phrase, is, that experience of danger suggests precautions which long prosperity knows not how to take, even in the moment of the greatest need. As soon as she had left the Earl of Beverley, instead of going direct to the part of the house where she heard the voices of her unwished-for visiters, she directed her steps through sundry long and intricate passages, which ultimately led her to a small door communicating with the garden, smiling as she did so at distinguishing the fierce growl of her good dog Basto in the hall, and the querulous tone of an old man calling loudly for some one to remove the hound, showing apparently that some visiting justice was kept at bay by that good sentinel. Passing through the garden and round by the path across the lawn, Lady Margaret approached the windows of her own withdrawing-room, just as a party, consisting of five militia-men with the parliamentary justice of Beverley, entered the chamber in haste; and she heard the justice demand in a sharp tone, addressing Miss Walton and Arrah Neil--
"Who are you, young women? What are your names?"
The old lady hurried in, to stop anything like an imprudent reply; but she had the satisfaction of hearing her niece answer--
"Nay, sir; methinks it is for us to ask who are you, and what brings you hither in such rude and intrusive guise."
"Well said, my sweet Annie!" thought Lady Margaret; but entering quickly she presented herself before the justice, whom she knew, exclaiming--
"Ha, Master Shortcoat! good morning to you. What brings you hither? and who are these men in buff and bandolier? I am not fond of seeing such in my house. We had trouble enough with them or their like, a few nights ago."