“Are ye ane o’ the persecuted remnant?” asked the woman in a changed tone.
“Ay, that am I.”
“Hide, then, hide, man—haste ye!”
“Where?” asked the perplexed fugitive. “There,” said the woman, removing the coffin lid. Andrew hesitated. Just then hurrying footsteps were heard on the stair. He hesitated no longer. Stepping into the coffin he lay down, and the woman covered him up.
“Oh, wumman!” said Black, lifting the lid a little, “tak’ care ye dinna meddle wi’ the screw-nails. They may—”
“Wheesht! Haud yer tongue!” growled the woman sharply, and reclosed the lid with a bang, just as Ramblin’ Peter burst into the room.
“What want ye here, callant?”
Peter drew back in dismay.
“I’m lookin’ for—I was thinkin’—Did ’ee see a man—?”
The lid of the coffin flew off as he spoke, and his master sprang out.