A moment's thought convinced Burgo that no other course was open to him, so up went his right hand.
The old woman leered and nodded; then, beckoning him to go nearer, she said: "Besides, where would be the use of your trying to get away? He's down there"--with a jerk of her thumb over her shoulder--"on the watch with one of his big dogs. Eh! but they're dangerous brutes, and he's a dangerous man, and he would think nothing of letting the beast loose to fly at your throat."
With the last word she was gone. But presently she reappeared, dragging Burgo's portmanteau up the stairs, after which she fetched up in turn a couple of blankets, a pillow, and a lamp. Then, not without some difficulty she succeeded in unlocking the door, after which she took in the things, Burgo meanwhile discussing his supper quietly at the table.
"And now, sir, I'll wish you a very good-night and pleasant dreams," said the old girl presently, "for I shan't trouble you any more till I bring your breakfus in the morning." Then in rapid whisper, and with another jerk of her thumb: "He's a devil, that's what he is--a devil!"
Half a minute later the key was turned in the lock, the slide shut, and Burgo was left alone for the night.
[CHAPTER XV.]
DACIA ROYLANCE.
Time went on till a week had gone by without anything occurring to break the monotonous tenor of Burgo's life in the Wizard's Tower.
His meals were supplied to him in the way already described, and as they were plentiful and good, he had nothing to complain of on that score.
Once a day old Mrs. Sprowle--for that was her name, she told him-- unlocked the door and entered the room in order to do such humble chores as were requisite, at which times "that devil," as she persistently termed the Italian, always kept watch and ward below stairs in company with one of his ferocious hounds. Him Burgo never saw, but more than once, as he lay awake, after putting out his lamp, he was conscious of a stealthy footfall on the stairs, and it seemed to him as if the slide were pushed softly back; but what the Italian's motive could be for acting thus--for he did not fail to set it down to him--he was unable to conceive, unless the latter were anxious to satisfy himself that his captive was not utilising the dark hours in an attempt to escape. On the first and second occasions Burgo lay still and made no sign, but the third time he heard the footsteps on the stairs, followed by the faint creak of the sliding panel, impelled by a sudden impulse, he put out his hand, grasped his boot, and aimed it as straight as he could in the dark at the aperture in the door. There was a muttered exclamation--or execration--in a man's voice, and then a sound of retreating footsteps. Burgo broke into a burst of genuine laughter. He could hardly remember the time when he had laughed last, it seemed so long ago.