As he spoke, a singular-looking individual made his appearance, and descending the steps respectfully saluted the insurgent leader.
Mr. Bancroft was an elderly man, rather high-shouldered and clad in an old-fashioned, snuff-coloured suit. He wore what was then called a night-cap wig, and on his large and prominent nose rested a pair of green spectacles, through which he eyed the visitor.
“Colonel Charteris is absent, sir,” he said. “He went to Lancaster yesterday.”
“So I have just heard,” replied the other. “But you must excuse me, Mr. Bancroft, if I decline to take your assurance on that point. My men will search the castle.”
“As you please, sir,” replied the steward. “But depend upon it they won't find him. Won't you please to alight, and come in?”
“Such is my intention,” replied the colonel, springing from his horse and giving the bridle to the trooper nearest to him. “Let a dozen men follow me,” he added. “The rest will take the horses to the stable—feed them—and then come to the house.”
“It shall be done, colonel,” said the trooper.
“Excuse me, colonel,” said Bancroft. “They'll find the stable doors locked. My master has taken the keys with him.”
“Break open the doors,” cried Colonel Oxburgh.
“If they do, they'll find no forage inside,” said Bancroft. “All the hay and corn has been removed.”