"Not one of the servants will come hither after night fall, for their lives!" said Mrs. Deborah. "I may just tell you that poor McIntosh of Borlam, lay concealed in these rooms, for many a day, after Foster's treachery lost the day for us at Preston, and it was by this very door that he made his escape, at last, after the pursuit had in some degree cooled down. * But come, we must not linger here. Come to my room."
* The Jacobites firmly believed that the fatal defeat at Preston in 1715, was due to Foster's treachery. There is a curious old ballad concerning McIntosh's escape in "The Borderer's Table Book."
We retraced our steps carefully, noting by Mrs. Deborah's desire, every turn of the path, and found ourselves once more in our own room.
From thence, we proceeded to Mrs. Deborah's, where we found a nice little supper prepared for us, with a jug of hot elder wine to keep us from taking cold, as Mrs. Deborah said.
Certainly, I did not sleep any better for it, nor for the images that haunted my mind of persecuted Jacobites, and possibly more desperate characters, finding refuge in the next room. However, one becomes used to anything. I never found in my life any particular difficulty in keeping secrets, nor did this one trouble me. I should not be telling it now, if there were any possible use in keeping it, or if these same rooms were still in existence.
Mrs. Deborah was the owner of a small but sufficiently convenient house, with an orchard and garden and a few acres of land, about half a mile from Highbeck church in the opposite direction to the Hall. This house it seems was a kind of heirloom, descending to the eldest unmarried or widowed daughter. It had stood empty for many years, save for the old man and woman who had lived in the kitchen. One day, we rode over to see it with Mrs. Deborah; it was rather forlorn in aspect certainly, but not badly out of repair.
"I shall have it put in order at once!" said Mrs. Deborah, surveying the little parlor. "I have saved money for that very purpose, and the furniture of my own rooms and that which my Sister Chloe left me, will go far toward making the place comfortable."
"Then you are determined to leave the Hall—and me!" said Amabel.
"Child, if I could do you any good by staying, I would never leave you, no, not if that woman humbled me in the dust!" was the reply. "But I should only do you harm. As my brother's wife, she has a right to rule, and I cannot live under her. There would be a constant clash, and I am no match for such as she. Besides, if worst comes to worst, I can make a home for you and Lucy."
There was no use in arguing with Mrs. Deborah, and besides, I felt that her course was a wise and dignified one. For myself, I was determined never to leave Amabel, come what might, unless I were absolutely driven away. I little knew then how I was to be tried, but I soon found out.