On some alterations being projected in a large mansion in Scotland belonging to the late Sir George Warrender, the architect, after examining and, so to say, studying the house, declared that there was a space in the centre for which there was no accounting, and that there must certainly be a concealed chamber. Neither master nor servants had ever heard of such a thing, and the assertion was treated with some scorn. The architect, however, persisted, and at last proved by the sure test of measurement ... that the space he had spoken of did exist, and as no entrance of any sort could be discovered from the surrounding rooms it was resolved to make an incision in the wall. A large and lofty apartment was disclosed, richly and completely furnished as a bed-chamber; a large four-post bed, spread with blankets, counterpanes, and the finest sheets was prepared for instant occupation. The very wax lights in the candlesticks stood ready for lighting. The room was heavily hung and carpeted as if to deaden sound, and was of course perfectly dark. No token was found to indicate the intended occupant, for it did not appear to have been used, and the general conjecture was that the refuge had been prepared for some unfortunate Jacobite in the ‘15, who had either fallen into the hands of the Government or had escaped from the kingdom. CHAPTER XXX A FURTHER GLANCE AT OUR VILLAGE Miss Mitford writes in 1830:— “Our village continues to stand pretty much where it did, and has undergone as little change in the last two years as any hamlet of its inches in the county.... I have hinted that it had a trick of standing still, of remaining stationary, unchanged and unimproved in this most changeable and improving world.... There it stands, the same long straggling street of pretty cottages divided by pretty gardens, wholly unchanged in size or appearance, unincreased and undiminished by a single brick.