Lovey spoke no more, and they retired into their respective corners of the hut; but when, two hours later, John Lee's steady breathing told his grandmother that he was unconscious, she rose, left him asleep, and crept away into the Moor. Southward she went, and then, near the tor called Hartland, heard a voice out of the night--a cracked and ancient voice, that sang of the owner's business and repeated its refrain with the monotony of a bird. "A ha'penny for a rook; A penny for a jay; A noble for a fox; An' twelvepence for a gray!" Soon Lovey found Leaman Cloberry, where he waited by appointment in a cleft of the rocks, snugly clad as usual in the raiment of dead beasts. "'Tis all so easy as cursing," she said. "He'll come to you to-morrow--poor sheep--an' write the letter. You'll get it to her through Tom Putt, who won't know what he's doing; an' she'll go to him Friday. Then he'll pour his nonsense into her ears; and as she passes home, along by Whispering Wood, you an' me will be waiting for her. She'll jump for joy and fear no evil when she sees me alive; for it means that her father's guiltless of blood." "An' this here Mr. Norcot?" asked Cloberry. "A good friend to me an' very generous in the past; but the money ought to be big." "So it will be. We take the maiden by night up to where the springs of Dart break out; an' then he comes along by chance and rescues her from us. 'Tis all planned. He'll seem in a grand rage, an' may even fetch you a blow or two; but they'm light at fifty pounds. Then off he goes with her to Chagford, and not a living soul that cares for her will know where she be hidden till it pleases him to tell." "An' John Lee?" inquired the vermin-catcher. "Well--what of him? Who troubles about the cheese when the mouse is catched? He'll know nought till he hears she has been caught. And she'll always think that 'twas his treachery laid the trap for her!" CHAPTER VI THE BURNING OF BLAZEY On the fourteenth day of March, 1815, came peace, borne upon the white wings of the _Favourite_: for the President of the United States had ratified the treaty. But, unhappily, the history of the War Prison on Dartmoor was not yet written, and the last bloody chapter still remained to tell. Ignorant of the complicated task set for authority, the bulk of the Americans instantly clamoured to be free; nor could the better instructed among them induce patience at this juncture. Letters from Mr. Blazey cooled enthusiasm; but these were written in a callous spirit, and impatience quickly rose to anger. Nothing had as yet been prepared for exodus, and the Agent not only gave no promise of immediate liberation, but explained that certain precautions, highly offensive to many of the Americans, must first be taken before a man left Dartmoor.