"Certainly," returned Calverley, coolly, "unless you prefer a gallows for your wife. But I dare say you would rather see Mary hanged than that old witch! I will leave you to manage the matter between yourselves."
"Oh, don't leave us!—don't leave us!" said Byles, in an agony. "Oh, save me! save me!" sobbed Mary.
"Was any one present when you gave it?" inquired Calverley, as he turned round and addressed Mary.
"Yes; Winifred handed me the bottle, but the child began to cry, so I sent her out."
"It was well she was here," returned he: "and now, remember—not a word of the drops! swear, simply, that the draught destroyed the infant." And, without awaiting her reply, he seized the pale and trembling Byles by the arm, and dragged him from the room into the passage. He then unlocked a door that had never been observed by either Byles or his wife, and, closing it after them, led the yeoman down a flight of dark steps, and, pausing a moment at the bottom to listen, he unlocked another door, and Byles found himself in a dark passage that branched from one of the entrances to the court-yard to some of the culinary offices. "Go you that way, and I will go this," said Calverley, "and, remember, you know nothing of the child's death." As he spoke, he darted from Byles, and gained the court-yard without further observation. He walked carelessly about, till a female domestic passing, he called to her, desiring her to go and ask Mary Byles if the young Lord Roland was ready to meet his parents, as they were momentarily expected. The woman departed, and he walked over to the gate between the front towers as if looking for the return of his lord.
CHAPTER IV.
"What ails you, Stephen," asked Margaret, alarmed at the strange paleness of the yeoman's countenance, and the agitation of his manner as he entered the cottage on the afternoon the child died. But Holgrave, without replying to her interrogatory, hastily closed and bolted the door. He then drew the large oak table from the side of the wall, and placed it as a barricade before it. "Stephen, what means this bolting and barring?" inquired Edith, as she saw with surprise his defensive preparations. "What fear you, my son?"
"Fear! mother," replied Holgrave, taking a lance and battle-axe from their place over the chimney, and firmly grasping the former as he stood against the table; "I do not fear now, mother, nor need you—for, by the blessed St. Paul, they shall pass over my mangled body before they reach you!"
"Stephen Holgrave, are you mad?" returned Edith alarmed: "tell me the meaning of this!—Speak, I command thee!"