My father wrung the don’s hand and expressed his gratitude. We immediately climbed up, and drawing the ladder after us, then let down the lid,—for so I may call it,—which made the surface look exactly like a broad beam running from one side of the house to the other. A more perfect hiding-place could scarcely have been devised, as no stranger, unless treachery had been at work, was likely to discover it.
We heard Don Cassiodoro’s footsteps as he descended the stairs. Soon afterwards voices from below reached us. The door of the room had been ostentatiously left open. Don Cassiodoro’s voice rose above that of his unwelcome visitors as he complained of the insult offered him, and at the want of confidence placed in his loyalty. The officers must have been, by some means or other, informed that my father was in the house, as they persisted in searching every room.
“He is nowhere below, but we shall probably unkennel him in the upper story,” I heard one of them say as they mounted the stairs.
They at last entered the room.
“Where can that rascally English doctor be?” exclaimed one of them. “He was too wise to hide in his own house; but if he is not here, where is he?”
“Never fear, we shall catch him somewhere,” observed another; “and we shall have the pleasure of seeing the Republican heretic shot, to repay us for our trouble.”
From these remarks I knew that our house must have been searched directly after I left it, and that I had had a very narrow escape. I was in hopes that something would have been said to inform me of what had happened to Mr Laffan; but no remark was made on the subject. I could only hope that Mr Laffan’s plan had succeeded, and that they had been afraid to touch him. The long-coated, grave-looking dominie would never have been suspected of having lately acted the part of a dashing lancer.
We lay listening and perfectly still, for as we could hear everything that was said, we knew that the slightest noise might have betrayed us.
“Are you convinced, gentlemen, that the English doctor is not here?” I heard Don Cassiodoro ask. “Now, I desire you to apologise to me for your intrusion. The general knows best whether it would be politic to shoot a skilful surgeon and an Englishman, who is willing and able to heal the wounds of the loyal subjects of King Ferdinand as well as of rebels. My belief is, that although he may love liberty in the abstract, he is too much engaged in his professional duties to interfere in any way in politics.”
At length we heard the front door close, and Don Cassiodoro returned to the recess to tell us that we might come down, but that my father must be ready to return to his place of concealment at a moment’s notice. “And you, young sir,” he said, turning to me, “it will be wise in you to keep out of the way of General Calzada; for, should he find out whose son you are, he might seize you as a hostage for the doctor.”