"Yes, thou knowest it. The master’s private door at the near end of the shed. They say ’twas put there years ago for old Master Lane, thy grandfather, to enter secretly and count his bales; maybe for the entrance of other sorts of goods,—folks say. For ’tis known he hid arms and ammunition for the king’s troops in the last war. It has not been used for years, and on the inside ’tis still hid behind a pile of sacks, I doubt not. But ’tis there." "Oh, Rob! I had forgot it entirely. And oh, I doubt not they have forgot it too, for I passed thro’ Blind Man’s alley last Sunday even, and there was no sentry stationed there." "No, sentry, Prue? And the key hangs on thy father’s chain." His voice was hoarse with excitement, he stared before him in dawning thought. Prue clasped her hands eagerly. "Oh, Rob," she whispered. "What shall we do? What shall we do?" He turned his head slowly and looked down at her. "Ah! sweetheart, it’s madness, madness!" "Yes, Rob, dear, but—let us be mad. Ah! do, do." He hesitated, but his inborn love of adventure tempted him as much as her eyes. He yielded to her pleading, and sealed the bargain with a kiss. Then they sat down on the bench, hand in hand, and proceeded to mature their plan. "Now, sweetheart, we must think with all our wits." "It must be to-night, Rob," Prue urged. "They might carry out the sentence to-morrow. It must be to-night." "To-night be it." "And what shall we do?" "There is but the one way that I can think of. Enter the shed by the hidden door, and fetch her out thence." "Oh, Rob, that sounds so easy," cried Prue, a note of disappointment in her voice. "Does it indeed, madame?" he laughed. "And what if the door be barred within, or I meet with a sentry, or the other prisoners should betray me, or I cannot find the lady, or she will not come?" Prue gasped in dismay at this terrible list of possibilities. "Oh! it is too dangerous, Rob," she urged with a sudden shrinking terror. "Nay, but we’ll e’en try it. For indeed I do not think any such misadventure likely to befall us." "Then let us set about it at once, Robert." "Nay, there is much to think on yet. Where shall I hide her when she is free of the prison?" "Bring her here, Rob, by the garden door. I can hide her in the old attic for a night or so, and they will never dream of seeking in father’s house for an escaped rebel, and in a few days Lady Cicely may win her pardon. But I am coming with you, Rob." "Certes, no. Why, I had as lief have my Lord Jeffreys. No, Prue, I mean it. If I cannot go alone, I go not at all." "Oh, but Rob. I must do something." "Ay, i’ faith, thou must. ’Tis for thee to get the key." "The key!" "Aye, the key of the shed. It hangs, as I said, on Master Lane’s chain, tho’ he hath doubtless forgot the fact, it has been so seldom used. But I know it well. Now, how wilt thou get it for me?" "Oh! Rob, I know not, i’ faith. How is’t possible?"