"Yes—with all the curiosity of a boy, I afterwards found that the secret door led by some long dark steps to the bed-chamber of the old lord!"
"Did you mention your discovery to any one?"
"To no one, until after I had stolen the child—and then I told all to father John."
"This story," remarked the Earl of Oxford, "requires proof as much as any thing else."
"You shall receive that of your own eyes," said Holgrave, "if it please you to accompany me;" and Richard, expressing a wish to witness every thing connected with the strange discovery, arose, and, with De Boteler, Oxford, and Sir Robert Knowles, proceeded as we have before described, to the bed-chamber. "From that bed, my lord," said Holgrave to De Boteler, "I took the child—it slept soundly—I crept down these steps—it was a dark night—and I got home without being seen!"
"This is not satisfactory proof," said Oxford.
"My lord, I have more to shew you," resumed Holgrave.
They then descended to the stabling, and, followed by many inquisitive eyes, went on to Holgrave's cottage.
It was uninhabited, but the door was fastened, and Holgrave forcing it open, led the way into the deserted abode. A chill came over him as he removed the chest; but taking up a shovel from a corner, where he himself had thrown it, he prepared to remove the clay. He hesitated for a moment, and then began his task;—he had dug about a foot deep, when, raising up a slip of wood about one foot broad and two in length, the perfect form of an infant, lying beneath, caused those who were looking silently on to utter an exclamation.
"Poor babe! it was a sad night I laid ye there," said Holgrave, bending over the grave, and looking earnestly at the little corpse; and then kneeling down, he attempted to raise one of the hands, but it dropped crumbling from his touch.