CONSPIRATORS.
On being brought back to the hostel, Derrick Carver was again conducted to the vault, there to remain till the hour appointed for his execution. He was so much troubled in spirit, owing to his anxiety for the safety of Osbert Clinton and his companions, that he could not address himself to prayer, and was pacing to and fro, when the door was unlocked, and the hostess entered. Her first business was to set down a little basket which she had concealed under her mantle, and she then informed Carver that she had brought him some wine and food. “I have prevailed on Master Piddinghoe to grant me admittance to you,” she said, “and I have managed to bring in this basket unperceived by the guard. Eat, I pray you, if only a morsel, and drink a cup of wine. It will strengthen you.”
“I thank you heartily, good mistress,” replied Carver, “but I shall eat and drink no more. There is, however, one great service which you can render me, if you are so minded.”
And he looked at her wistfully.
“What is it?” she replied. “Tell me, and I will do it. You may perfectly confide in me.”
Carver then, in a few words, informed her of the danger of Osbert Clinton and his friends, and after describing their appearance, entreated her to warn them speedily.
“I will do your bidding without an instant’s delay,” she replied. “I have seen the gentlemen you describe, and will find them out, and urge them to instant flight. This accounts for the orders I heard given to Master Piddinghoe by Sir Richard de Warren, that all the town gates are to be closed, and no one allowed to go forth without a password. Luckily, I overheard it, and will give it to your friends.”
“You have removed a load of anxiety from my breast, good mistress,” said Carver. “If they are safe, I shall die content.”
“Then let no anxiety on their account trouble you further,” she rejoined. “Ere many minutes they shall be out of Lewes. Farewell!”