But my good father, before he slept, paid a secret visit to the stable, there leaving orders with Kidd, the sleepy chief of a sleepy band of agrestic warriors (for the squadron I had led out at noon was at length painfully gathered in and billeted in the hay-loft), and with the chief groom of his own establishment, that no man (adding hastily, "nor no woman neither") should take horse from their door without his own express command. For he feared that either Ned would escape him, and so cut this knot of his own generous making; or that Philip would effect an early start to throw himself, with little gain to us all, into the hands of his enemies. And so, after threats of the most terrible, which served at least, as the sequel shows, to keep his commands from mixing with their dreams, Sir Michael got him to his bed where, if the just indeed sleep well, he slumbered very peacefully till the unwonted hour of nine in the morning.
I do not think that poor Philip found much sleep. The choice between divergent duties, with harm to his family involved in one decision, to a brave and generous friend in the other, may well keep even the just awake. The household being much belated, he was able between six and seven of the morning to let himself out unobserved. On coming to the stable, however, he found that he could on no terms but Sir Michael's order be furnished with a horse; not even with that which had brought him to the house the night before. After some minutes of deep thought, he hastily penned a few lines on a leaf of his tablets, which he then tore out and carefully folded, begging Christopher, as he loved the honor of the house, to keep it unread and undivulged until two o'clock of the afternoon, when he should hand it to Sir Michael. But if, as he deemed by no means likely of occurrence, His Highness of Orange should before that hour honor Sir Michael with a visit, the letter must at once be delivered. With which he left the yet sleep-ridden Christopher, willing, indeed, to do his behest, but so mightily astonished at the mystery in which he found himself involved, that he failed even to mark the road of Philip's departure.
The letter, which I hold to be a notable example of my brother's forethought, I will give here rather than in its place of coming to light, for the better understanding of Philip's motive and action.
"TO MY DEAR AND HONORED FATHER: Being resolved to do what I may to repair the great evil I have brought upon Edward Royston, and fearing hindrance at your hands or his, I have taken myself off while you are yet sleeping. Finding, however, that you have laid a strict embargo upon the stable, I go first afoot to the Grange, where old Simcox will doubtless mount me with the best in his stable.
"I call to mind some words of Royston's, however, of His Highness of Orange intending a visit to Drayton. Now, although it is more than likely he has foregone this purpose after what ensued upon my escape, it is yet possible that some compunction of his own hastiness, or return of gratitude to Philippa, may bring him to your door. From the Grange, therefore, I purpose taking the road to Exeter that runs by 'The Crow's Nest,' whence one may see the roofs of Drayton. I shall be particular not to leave that point before the stroke of noon. If, therefore, the improbable occur, and the Prince be come, or announced to come, to Drayton before that hour, I beg of you, my dear sir, to fly the old flag from the turret mast; which, if I see, I will make the best of my way back to you, knowing that you will not contrive from my plan a ruse to lure me home against my conscience.
"If the Prince be gone to Exeter, and I there get audience of him, remember that even the failure of my plea for Royston will not injure your own subsequent representations, but will rather by corroboration of evidence strengthen them. Your obedient son,
"P.D."
Thus it ran. The Grange, I should say, is the old Holroyd house, and Simcox, my father's bailiff for the estate.
So much for two of those that sat so late in the hall.
As for Ned, neither joy (if, as I suppose, some joy was in him) nor grief, of which he thought never through life to be rid, was to prevail against the oppression of sleep long denied. He slept as the dead sleep, till long after my father was abroad.