Humphrey pointed to a bench which was but dimly discernible in the dark hall, lighted only by a thin wick floating in a small pan of oil, and bid Ned seat himself, while he drew a mugful of ale from the barrel, which was supposed to keep up the porter's strength and spirits during the night-watch, and put it to Ned's lips. He drank eagerly, and then said,-- 'I've a letter for you, Master, in my pouch, but I was to say you were to keep it to yourself. Mistress Gifford could scarce write it, for she is sick, and no wonder. Look here, Master, I'd tramp twice twenty miles to serve her, and find the boy.' 'Find the boy! You speak in riddles.' Ned nodded till his abundant red hair fell in more than one stray lock over his sunburnt, freckled face. 'Are there eavesdroppers at hand?' he asked. The porter was snoring loudly, but Humphrey felt uncertain whether he was feigning sleep, or had really resumed his broken slumber. He therefore bid the boy follow him upstairs, first replacing bolt and bar, to make all secure till the morning. When he reached his room, which was up more than one flight of the winding stone stairs, Ned stumbling after him, he struck a light with a flint and kindled a small lamp, which hung from an iron hook in the roof. 'Throw yourself on that settle, my good fellow; but give me the letter first. When I have read it, you shall tell me all you know.' The letter was written on thin parchment, and was scarcely legible, blotted, as it was, with tears, and the penmanship irregular and feeble. * * * * * 'To Master Humphrey Ratcliffe--My Good Friend,--This comes from one nearly distraught with grief of mind and sickness of body. My boy, my boy! They have stolen him from me. Can you find him for me? He is in the hands of Jesuits--it may be at Douay--I dare say no more. I cannot say more. Good Ned, Heaven bless him, will find you out, and give you this. Pray to God for me. He alone can bind the broken heart of one who is yours, in sore need. 'M. G. 'I lost him this day se'nnight; it is as a hundred years to me. Tears are my meat. God's hand is heavy upon me.' * * * * * Humphrey read and re-read the letter, and again and again pressed it passionately to his lips. 'Find him! Find her boy; yes, God helping me, I will track him out, alive or dead.' Then he turned to Ned,-- 'Now, tell me all you know of this calamity.' Ned told the story in a few simple words. The black man had been skulking about Penshurst for some time. He had scared Mistress Lucy, and the boy had seen him near the house. Mistress Gifford had gone out early to look after the shepherd, who was seeking a lost lamb, and the black man had come out of a hollow. Then Mistress Gifford had run with all her might, and, worse luck, she stumbled and fell in a swoon, and when Jenkyns found her she had come out of it, but was moaning with pain, and grieving for the boy.