"Let the house burn, my boy! let the house burn!" said Lady Margaret. "It is not worth the hair of an honest man's head to save it. Take the pictures, and all the rest of the things but the plate, down to the steward's, and especially the papers. As to the silver, we will carry it away to the king at York. He may need it more than I shall." "He is not at York, my dear aunt," replied Lord Walton. "Ere noon to-morrow I trust he will be in Hull, Luckily, we were on our march, and not very far distant from the Hall, when our dear Arrah here found us out and told us of the strait in which you were placed." As he spoke he took Arrah Neil's fair hand, and pressed his lips upon it warmly; and Lady Margaret, suddenly laying her hand upon his arm, exclaimed-- "Ah, Charles! when I am dead you must be her protector." "I will," replied Lord Walton; and then repeated still more earnestly, "I will." Arrah Neil gazed steadfastly in his face, and her beautiful eyes filled with tears. CHAPTER XXXVII. It is quite abominable to have left Diggory Falgate for such a length of time in a cold damp vault, without anybody to keep him company but rats and mice and such small deer; but yet, dearly-beloved reader, it could not be helped without evident injustice to more important personages. Not that Diggory Falgate was an unimportant person, nor that his stay in the vault was unimportant to this history; far from it, as you shall speedily hear. The reader has already perceived that he was a man of action, fond of an enterprise, liking a certain sort of excitement; not always, indeed, quite confident of himself, and consequently exaggerating a little his sayings and doings, in order to keep himself up to the mark. He drew back the shade of the lantern, then, as we have before said, and looked about. His next step was not quite determined, and it was wise to look about him. It always is wise, indeed, to look about one before one acts; but, nevertheless, the glance that Diggory gave around did not serve to strengthen him in any resolution or guide him in any course of action. On the contrary, it confused his mind and shook his firmness. The first feeling when Mr. Dry and the sexton made their escape from his pursuit, taking him to be a ghostly enemy, was one of triumph; but when he came to examine in what that triumph consisted, he felt induced to exclaim, like Napoleon, "Is this a victory?"