George was so near that the heavy man could have touched him with his hand, but after scratching about the door, he found the latch at last, and stumbled sleepily out into the hall. Owing to the darkness within the room George could now see out of the curtainless window. There was no one on the roof! However, he could not tarry where he was; he must take the risk; and slipping the miniature and cipher into his pocket, he opened the window and slid over the wall to the alley. It was turning freezing cold; the ground crunched under his feet, and the little gate to the widow's diminutive front yard creaked shrilly. The young spy knocked softly on the door.
"Who's there?" came a voice from the second story.
"'Tis I, George Frothingham," he answered. "Mrs. Mack, I pray you let me in."
The old woman in a minute admitted him into the hallway.
"You will have to hide me somewhere, my good friend," he said, "for I am in great danger."
"The very place! the little room that you used to have," was the whispered response. "No one would think of looking for ye there; and if they did, there's a small attic over-head. Why should they think of my house?" she added.
Once more George found himself in the little room where he had passed so many lonely hours reading and writing, recalling pleasant scenes, and drawing bright pictures of what he hoped might be, before the great changes had arrived. Thinking that it might attract attention to have a light burning in the room at such an hour, he refrained from trying to read the despatches, putting it off until morning. He tumbled into the little bed that he had slept in so often, and, despite the excitement of the night, fell fast asleep. When he awoke it was broad daylight—such a crisp sparkling day! Every twig on the trees shone like a branch of diamonds. The pools in the road were filled with white brittle ice that broke and shivered noisily beneath the feet of some school-boys going down the road.
"Oh, that I was only one of them!" thought George, looking out of the window. A curtain was tacked across the panes, and he could look out without being seen.
Suddenly he stopped, half dressed, although the room was intensely cold, and pulled out the despatch he had found in the hollow limb. There it was, neatly written in the cipher, and that also was at hand. But where were the magnifying-glass and the snuff-box? He could not find them, and strain his eyes to their utmost, he could not make out clearly the characters on the diminutive sheet of parchment. He hastily finished dressing, and called through the hallway for Mrs. Mack. There was no answer. Then he thought of a large round glass bowl that used to hang by a chain in the window below-stairs. He remembered that when filled with water it magnified extremely well. Mrs. Mack had evidently gone out, the house seemed deserted, so he slipped down the stairs, and found the bowl in its accustomed place. But as he reached it from the hook he paused. Two persons were softly talking at the back of the hall. He could feel, from the draught of air, that the door was open.
"'Tis very strange," said a man's voice; "but there's great excitement at the City Arms. I was there with the milk this morning, and they say as how a young gentleman from up the river has disappeared—murdered, maybe, for all they know. They are looking in all directions for him."