“We will speak of that anon,” replied Wyat. “I was sorry to find this cottage uninhabited, and the fair damsel who dwelt within it, when I beheld it last, gone. What has become of her?
“It is a strange story,” said Richmond. And he proceeded to relate all that was known to have befallen Mabel.
Wyat listened with profound attention to the recital, and at its close, said, “I think I can find a clue to this mystery, but to obtain it I must go alone. Meet me here at midnight to-morrow, and I doubt not we shall be able to accomplish our design.”
“May I not ask for some explanation of your scheme?” said Surrey.
“Not yet,” rejoined Wyat. “But I will freely confess to you that there is much danger in the enterprise—danger that I would not willingly any one should share with me, especially you, Surrey, to whom I owe so much. If you do not find me here, therefore, to-morrow night, conclude that I have perished, or am captive.”
“Well, be it as you will, Wyat,” said Surrey; “but I would gladly accompany you, and share your danger.”
“I know it, and I thank you,” returned Wyat, warmly grasping the other's hand; “but much—nay, all—may remain to be done to-morrow night. You had better bring some force with you, for we may need it.”
“I will bring half a dozen stout archers,” replied Surrey—“and if you come not, depend upon it, I will either release you or avenge you.”
“I did not intend to prosecute this adventure further,” said Richmond; “but since you are both resolved to embark in it, I will not desert you.”
Soon after this, the friends separated,—Surrey and Richmond taking horse and returning to the castle, discoursing on the unlooked—for meeting with Wyat, while the latter again entered the skiff, and rowed down the lake. As soon as the hut was clear, two persons descended the steps of a ladder leading to a sort of loft in the roof, and sprang upon the floor of the hut.