_Black Will._ Which is the place where we're to be concealed? _Green._ This inner room. _Black Will._ 'Tis well. The word is, "Now I take you." _Arden of Feversham._ Guarded by the two young farmers who had displayed so much address in seizing him, Luke, meanwhile, had been conveyed in safety to the small chamber in the eastern wing, destined by Mr. Coates to be his place of confinement for the night. The room, or rather closet, opening from another room, was extremely well adapted for the purpose, having no perceptible outlet; being defended, on either side, by thick partition walls of the hardest oak, and at the extremity by the solid masonry of the mansion. It was, in fact, a remnant of the building anterior to the first Sir Ranulph's day; and the narrow limits of Luke's cell had been erected long before the date of his earliest progenitor. Having seen their prisoner safely bestowed, the room was carefully examined, every board sounded, every crevice and corner peered into by the curious eye of the little lawyer; and nothing being found insecure, the light was removed, the door locked, the rustic constables dismissed, and a brace of pistols having been loaded and laid on the table, Mr. Coates pronounced himself thoroughly satisfied and quite comfortable. Comfortable! Titus heaved a sigh as he echoed the word. He felt anything but comfortable. His heart was with the body all the while. He thought of the splendor of the funeral, the torches, the illumined church, his own dignified march down the aisle, and the effect he expected to produce amongst the bewildered rustics. He thought of all these things, and cursed Luke by all the saints in the calendar. The sight of the musty old apartment, hung round with faded arras, which, as he said, "smelt of nothing but rats and ghosts, and suchlike varmint," did not serve to inspirit him; and the proper equilibrium of his temper was not completely restored until the appearance of the butler, with all the requisites for the manufacture of punch, afforded him some prospective solace. "And what are they about now, Tim?" asked Titus. "All as jolly as can be," answered the domestic; "Dr. Small is just about to pronounce the funeral 'ration." "Devil take it," ejaculated Titus, "there's another miss! Couldn't I just slip out, and hear that?" "On no account," said Coates. "Consider, Sir Ranulph is there." "Well, well," rejoined Titus, heaving a deep sigh, and squeezing a lemon; "are you sure this is _biling_ water, Tim? You know, I'm mighty particular." "Perfectly aware of it, sir."