"Feeling as if you could relish a good beef-steak and slice of pudding?" he inquired.
"Not just yet," I answered feebly. "O Mr. Denny," I continued, remembering something which, since my return of memory, had been puzzling my brain, "was that the secret place that George and I discovered?"
"Yes," he answered; "but I fancy you discovered something more important than the hidden chamber." He said this with a dry chuckle, and producing his little tortoise-shell box took a pinch of snuff.
"What was that?" I asked languidly.
"Well, I don't think you'd understand if I told you. Better wait, and you shall hear all in good time."
I must have slept most of that day. Thanks to my youth and good constitution, I was suffering from nothing worse than exhaustion and a severe cold, and I was much stronger when Miles came to see me the following morning.
He had already heard our story from George Woodley; indeed, I think that by this time there was hardly a man, woman, or child on the whole countryside but had listened to a more or less exaggerated narrative of our adventures. In some of these garbled accounts George and I were reported to have done and endured the most extraordinary things. One old lady, to her dying day, could never be persuaded otherwise than that the convicts had locked us inside the coach, and then sent us and it together bodily over the cliff.
"I shall never forget when we first heard that strange muffled knocking and shouting in the west parlour," said Miles. "It was so strange and unearthly that my blood ran cold with terror. John, the shepherd, was in the yard, and noticed that his dog seemed uneasy, and kept barking and growling at something. I was talking with him at the time. We paused to listen, but I could hear nothing; so John ordered the dog to lie down. Old 'Help' still kept grumbling to himself; then, just as the man and I were turning to walk out of the yard, one of the maids came out of the house screaming and bawling something about a ghost. It was some seconds before we could get enough sense out of her to understand what was wrong, and in the meantime Stokes, the wagoner, came clattering out of the stable and joined the group. There was a ghost knocking and calling in the haunted room, so the girl informed us, and off we went to discover what was wrong. Old John shortened his oak stick, and Stokes caught up a pitchfork: they evidently both meant business.
"It seems funny enough now, but I can tell you I didn't feel much inclined to laugh when we reached that fusty old parlour and heard that mysterious bump, bump, and a faint, far-off voice, as it seemed, giving unearthly whoops, and crying, 'Help!' Old John was the first to recover his senses. 'There's some one under here!' he cried, striking his stick on the hearthstone. Then he shouted, and sure enough there was an answering hail. It seemed impossible that any living being could be down under that solid slab of granite; but we fetched a pick and crowbar, and worked at it till it fell into the tunnel. If we'd only known the proper way to deal with it, we could have made it slide along into a recess specially made for it at the back of the fireplace, but we didn't discover that till later.
"Woodley says you fainted; but fortunately he heard our warning shout to stand from under, and dragged you back into the tunnel, or you might have been killed by the falling slab. I was so excited and astonished as I looked down into that queer little vault, and you both were so haggard, and ragged, and generally bedraggled, that at first I didn't recognize you, and it was only when you called my name that I saw who it was. Well, you may be very sure we soon had you out; and I think you know the rest."