"No, Sir," mumbled the old man, and he shambled quickly out of the door.
Sir Henry was reading the note, a frown upon his face, and as he finished he looked up.
"Right sorry I am to hear this, Sir Thomas," he said. "Thou shalt have such comforts as the place affords while thou art here, which I trust will not be long. I have a leech in the house who shall dress thy wounds. But come, I will show thee to thy cell," and rising, he took from his belt a large bunch of keys, and motioned me to follow him.
I did so, leaving Richard, his head bowed as though in thought, in his chair by the table.
Corridor after corridor we crossed; stair after stair we ascended and descended, winding in and out the long, silent halls as though we would never reach our destination. DeGray trod them with the ease of one who knows every nook and cranny by heart. We met only a few people, seemingly guards, and just as I had almost given up in despair, my guide halted in front of one of the innumerable doors, and fitting the key in the lock, opened it, motioning me to enter.
The windows were secured by a heavy grating, and there was only the simplest kind of furniture in the room, only a bed, a rough table, and a chair or two, that was all. The room was fairly large and clean though, but that was about all that could be said of it.
Old Sir Henry entered with me, and locking the door, seated himself on one of the chairs. He was a blunt, rough old fellow, but with a heart of gold, and he had thought much of me in the old days in Ireland. I had saved his life there once, when his horse had been cut down, and he had been left on the ground in the midst of the wild Irish. Seeing him thus, I had turned my horse and had ridden back, and catching him up across my saddle, had dashed forward to join our men, the savage kerns at my heels. He had not forgotten this, his first words told me that.
"It was fourteen years ago to-day that thou didst save my life at the risk of thine own, when the rest of the men had left me to the mercy of the Irish," he said thoughtfully, his eyes absently fixed upon me. "I have the scar with me yet, and will bear it to the grave," and he laid his finger upon a great seamed place on his neck, where a rough scar ran half-way around it.
"It was a close shave," I answered, as I threw myself upon the bed, "but yet thou didst pull through."
"Yes," he replied, "thanks to thee. But, lad, I hope that thou wilt pardon the curiosity of an old friend, and tell me why thou art here. It is not all curiosity, believe me, for perhaps I can be of assistance to thee," and he lowered his voice to a whisper, and glanced around cautiously at the door.