"No, master—I took it!" So, albeit 'twas very dark, the boy very soon had freed me of my shackles; which done (and all a-quiver with haste) he seizes my hand and tugs at it:
"Come, master!" he whispered, "This way—this way!" So with his little, rough hand in mine I suffered him to bring me whither he would in the dimness, for not a lanthorn burned anywhere, until at last he halted me at a ladder propped against a bulkhead and mounting before, bade me follow. Up I climbed forthwith, and so to a narrow trap or scuttle through which I clambered with no little to-do, and found myself in a strange place, the roof so low I could barely sit upright and so strait that I might barely lie out-stretched.
"Lie you here, master!" he whispers, "And for the love o' God don't speak nor make a sound!" Saying which, he got him back through the scuttle, closing the trap after him, and I heard the clatter of the ladder as he removed it.
Hereupon, lying snug in my hiding-place, I presently became aware of a sweetness that breathed upon the air, a fragrance very faint but vastly pleasing, and fell a-wondering what this should be. My speculations were banished by the opening of a door near by and a light appeared, by which I saw myself lying in a narrow space shut off by a valance or curtain that yet showed a strip of carpet beyond, and all at once upon this carpet came a little, buckled shoe. I was yet staring on this in dumb amaze when a voice spoke softly:
"Are you there, Martin Conisby? Hush, speak low I do command you!"
For answer I dragged myself into the light and stared up at the Lady Joan Brandon.
"Where am I?" I demanded.
"In my cabin," says she, meeting my scowl with eyes serene and all untroubled. "I had you brought hither to save you—"
"To save me! Ha, you—you to save me—"
"Because you are not man enough to die yet," she went on in her calm, grave voice, "so I will save you alive that haply you may grow more worthy."