"Follow me, Roger Trevanion," said the voice.
"Where?" I asked.
"To freedom."
"Freedom from what?" for I liked not the dark shapeless thing greatly, although I seemed to be upheld in a way I knew not.
"From the law, from the Killigrews," was the reply in a hoarse whisper.
"Very well," was my reply. "I am ready to follow you."
"John Jenkins, you will take Roger Trevanion's place this night," said my deliverer.
"No, no," cried John, "I darn't stay 'ere oal by myself in your tower."
"Speak as loud as that again, and you will follow me whither you would not go. Listen, John Jenkins. You must stay here. I promise you this: no harm shall come to you. I will not haunt the tower this night. There, lie on the straw. If you make a sound before the church clock strikes seven to-morrow morning you shall feel the power of Jezebel Grigg, the witch who was burnt here. When you are asked questions in the morning, tell the governor that you were seeing that all was safe for the night when I came and put you here. Give me your keys."