"No discovery was made when the house was searched by the enemy to-day? ha!" cried Charles.
"None whatever, sire," replied Joan. "Our lady be praised for misleading them."
"Where am I to be lodged, good dame?" asked Charles.
"There is a very fine old bed in the squire's room as we call it," replied Joan—"Squire Peter Giffard, and his father, ay, and his grandfather, Squire John Giffard, who built this house, have often slept in it—but I dare not offer it to your majesty."
"Lodge me where you will, good dame," replied the king, with manifest symptoms of fatigue. "I wish you all good night."
"Shall I attend your majesty?" said Careless.
Charles declined, and preceded by Joan, who carried a light, mounted an oak staircase, which sprang from the further end of the hall.
On arriving at the landing-place, his conductress opened the door of a good-sized apartment, in the midst of which stood a large old-fashioned bed, with rich, though faded curtains. The room, which had a most comfortable look in the eyes of the wearied monarch, was panelled with black oak, and partly hung with tapestry. On the walls were portraits of Sir Thomas Giffard, tenth Lord of Chillington, and his two spouses—Dorothy, daughter of Sir John Montgomery, of Caverswall, and Ursula, daughter of Sir Robert Throckmorton, of Coughton—both extremely handsome women.
Having drawn aside a piece of the arras opposite the foot of the bed, Joan opened a sliding panel in the wainscot, and a dark closet was then revealed.