Lydia looked at him as a martyr might look at a wretch to whom she was to be chained. He was doing as she had done--lying. Then Bashville, having passed through the other rooms, came into the library by the inner door, with an old livery cloak on his arm. “Put that on him,” he said, “and come along to the castle with me. You can see the roads for five miles round from the south tower, and recognize every man on them, through the big telescope. By your leave, madam, I think Phoebe had better come with us to help.” “Certainly,” said Lydia, looking steadfastly at him. “I’ll get clothes at the castle for the man that wants them,” he added, trying to return her gaze, but failing with a blush. “Now boys. Come along.” “I thank your ladyship,” said the sergeant. “We have had a hard morning of it, and we can do no more at present than drink your health.” He touched his helmet again, and Lydia bowed to him. “Keep close together, men,” he shouted, as the crowd moved off with Bashville. “Ah,” sneered Mellish, “keep close together like the geese do. Things has come to a pretty pass when an Englishman is run in for stopping when he sees a crowd.” “All right,” said the sergeant. “I have got that bundle of colored handkerchiefs you were selling; and I’ll find the other man before you’re a day older. It’s a pity, seeing how you’ve behaved so well and haven’t resisted us, that you won’t drop a hint of where those ropes and stakes are hid. I might have a good word at the sessions for any one who would put me in the way of finding them.” “Ropes and stakes! Fiddlesticks and grandmothers! There weren’t no ropes and stakes. It was only a turn-up--that is, if there was any fighting at all. _I_ didn’t see none; but I s’pose you did. But then you’re clever, and I’m not.” By this time the last straggler of the party had disappeared from Lydia, who had watched their retreat from the door of the Warren Lodge. When she turned to go in she saw Cashel cautiously entering from the room in which he had lain concealed. His excitement had passed off; he looked cold and anxious, as if a reaction were setting in. “Are they all gone?” he said. “That servant of yours is a good sort. He has promised to bring me some clothes. As for you, you’re better than--What’s the matter? Where are you going to?” Lydia had put on her hat, and was swiftly wrapping herself in a shawl. Wreaths of rosy color were chasing each other through her cheeks; and her eyes and nostrils, usually so tranquil, were dilated. “Won’t you speak to me?” he said, irresolutely.