"Never be talking so much of what's far off. There's no luck in prophesying ill things. Was ever any one in your family hung?"
"No; none rose so high," said Neville, with bitter humor.
"Still another sending for thee. 'Twas brought by Mistress Calvert's son while his mother was within. I wonder does the child think we mean to starve you." As he spoke he drew out a loaf of bread.
"He said you were not to wait till morning, but eat it all to-night."
Neville smiled, a sweet, wholesome, human smile.
"Give it me," he said, and broke off a great chunk. To his surprise he found the loaf hollow, and inside was Cecil's knife wrapped round with a bit of paper on which was scrawled in a childish hand,—
"I crep out of bed to get this Loaf. I was afraid of bars tho you say they cum not into houses. I dug out the Bred with my nife and thru the crums out at the Windo so Mother sh'd not see them. I hope you will stab your jalor, and jump out your Windo too. Sum day you shal cum to Robin Hood's Barn. You may keep the Nife.
Calvert."
"Here, Philpotts," said Neville, handing over the knife, "this is for you; but with your leave I will keep the note," and he folded it and laid it next his heart, as though it had been written by his own son.
"Why not keep it yoursel', Master?"