"No, no; you will get well, Ned," said Lord Montagu, in a cheerful tone. "I do not intend to part with you yet. But now you must positively be silent if you would not increase the evil." Some four or five hours passed. The rain cleared away, the sun broke out, and Lord Montagu looked anxiously from the windows which were turned toward the road, in expectation of the promised litter. All he could see, however, was a large party of Savoyard peasantry working hard, apparently, to remove some obstruction from the highway. He was still gazing forth, when Pierrot appeared at the door, and, finding all still, beckoned to him. "My lord," he said, in a low voice, when Montagu had joined him, "I can hear nothing of that man above, nor Jacques either. He could not get out of the windows; and I should not wonder if he has hanged himself." Lord Montagu started and instantly ran up-stairs, thinking the conclusion at which Pierrot had jumped not at all improbable. He opened the door gently and looked around. The sun was shining full into the room, but Sir Richard Langdale was not there. The only thing that could indicate the mode of his escape was a pair of large riding-boots, very wet, which lay on the floor; and it is probable that, opening the door cautiously while the two men were asleep, he had stepped lightly over them and then gone down the stairs. "What a thing is the love of life!" thought Lord Montagu. "This man would rather live miserable than risk the grave. However, I cannot be sorry; and I believe poor Ned will be glad." He entered the room below as silently as possible; but Edward, who had heard his rapid step running up the stairs, turned his head, asking, "Is there any thing the matter above?" "Only that your brother has escaped," said his lord. "Thank God!" said the young man, with a smile. "Pray, do not pursue him, my lord." "I will not," replied Montagu: "make your mind easy, Ned." "Here come some people with a litter up the hill," said one of the blacksmiths. CHAPTER XXVIII. The _auberge_, the _cabaret_, the _gîte_, were the usual places of repose for travellers in the reign of Louis XIII., as they had been under that of his father, Henry IV. Some change, indeed, had taken place in point of comfort and refinement; and even before the epoch of Louis XIV., which was now rapidly approaching, many an auberge was a very comfortable and luxurious dwelling. But there was another roof, which, in those days, afforded in Catholic countries--and even now afford, on the less frequented lines of travel--a more peaceful and little less comfortable or luxurious resting-spot than the houses of public entertainment. This was the large monastery, the abbey or the priory of any of the hospitable orders; and in Savoy these were peculiarly numerous, as their splendid ruins still attest.