My Cousin Tom carried me upstairs presently to the Guest-chamber—a great panelled room, with a wide fire-place, above the dining-room—that I might wash my hands and face before dinner; and my heart smote me a little for all my thoughts of him, for, when all was said, he had received me very hospitably, and was now bidding me welcome again, and that I must live there as long as I would, and think of it as my home.
"And here," he said, opening a door at the foot of the bed, "is a little closet where your man can hang your clothes; it looks out upon the yard; and my room is beyond it, over the kitchen."
I thanked him again and again for his kindness; and so he left me.
* * * * *
We dined below presently, very excellently. The room was hung with green, with panels of another pattern upon it; and the dishes were put in through a little hatch from the kitchen passage. My man James waited with the rest, and acquitted himself very well. Then after dinner, when the servants were gone away, my Cousin Tom carried me out, with a mysterious air, to the foot of the stairs.
"Now look well round you, Cousin Roger," he said, when he had me standing there; "and see if there be anything that would draw your attention."
I looked this way and that but saw nothing; and said so.
"Have you ever heard of Master Owen," he said, "of glorious memory?"
"Why, yes," I said, "he was a Jesuit lay-brother, martyred under
Elizabeth: and he made hiding-holes, did he not?"
"Well; he hath been at work here. Look again, Cousin Roger."