As he spoke he began to dismount slowly; and while one of the two men who accompanied him took the bridle, the third sprang with great alacrity to hold the stirrup, showing, as Chartley thought, reverence somewhat extraordinary for a mere messenger. The soldier at the door called out somebody from within, who seemed to be a domestic servant of Lord Stanley's; and the moment the man beheld the messenger's face, he said, "Oh, come in, sir, come in. My lord will see you instantly." The stranger followed him into the house, while his two companions walked his horse up and down the road.
About half an hour elapsed ere the messenger came out again; and then, springing on his horse at once, he rode away at a quick pace.
A few minutes after this, Chartley's dark reveries were interrupted by two men bringing in a truckle bed, for there had been none in the room before. One of them was a servant of the inn, whom the young lord knew well by sight, and had been kind to. The man, however, took not the least notice of him, any more than if he had been a stranger; and, saying to himself, "Fortune changes favour," the young nobleman turned to the window again.
A minute or two sufficed to set up the bed in its place; and then the servant of the inn said to the other man, "Go fetch the blankets and the pillow; they are at the end of the passage, I think."
The moment he was gone and the door closed, the man started forward and kissed Lord Chartley's hand.
"Comfort, comfort, my lord," he said. "The headsman may sharpen his axe, but it is not for you. Look under the pillow when I am gone; keep your window open, and watch. But do not be rash nor in haste. Wait till you have a signal;" and then, starting back to his place, he began to stretch the cross bars of the bed out a little farther.
A minute or two after, the other man returned loaded with bedding, which was soon disposed in order; but just as they were retiring again, the servant of the inn seemed to see something amiss about the pillow, and returned for an instant to put it straight, after which the two left the room together. The key was turned, the bolt was shot, and Chartley, putting his hand under the pillow, drew forth a billet, folded and sealed. It bore no address, and contained but few words. They were as follows:
"The sentinels at the gate will be removed at midnight. Blankets and sheets have made ropes before now; and a grey horse, whose speed you know, stands half a mile down the road. Turn to the right after your descent. Before you go, in justice to others, burn the pass and the letter which came with it; and, if you understand these directions, extinguish your light at eleven."
"Who could the letter come from?" Chartley asked himself. "It was neither the handwriting nor the composition of an inn chamberlain, that was clear," and, taking out the pass, he compared the writing of the two. There was a very great similarity.
Chartley's heart beat high again, but, as he gazed upon the two papers, the clock struck ten. "Two long hours!" he thought, "two long hours!" How wearisome seemed the passing of the time. But it did pass; and when he calculated that eleven o'clock was drawing near, he approached the pass to the flame of the lamp. It caught and burned; but ere the whole was consumed, there came across the prisoner's mind a doubt--a suspicion. It was the only hold he had upon Lord Stanley; a paper which proved that nobleman had connived at his march to join the earl of Richmond; a paper which he dared not order to be taken from him by force lest it should discover its own secret. The next instant, however, nobler thoughts succeeded. "Away, injurious suspicions!" he said, and, casting the paper down upon the floor, he suffered it to consume, and then trampled out the sparks with his foot. The letter from Richmond, which had accompanied it, shared the same fate; and then he waited and watched for the stroke of eleven. It was longer than he had thought it would be; and at length he began to fancy that the clock had stopped.