“It was too childish. Nobody but a fool would have dreamt I could be deceived.” He put the bottle and sandwiches back again carefully and covered them with the napkin that had been over the basket. “Come,” he said, and they went farther into the apartment. She saw a big gap in the floor and a stone standing straightly up from the centre. “I have a lamp below. I prepared this place a very long time ago against such an emergency. Light and food--and all the water you want. Will you go first?” He was very courteous and polite, took her hand to guide her, and held the light so that she could see the stairs, and came down immediately after, stopping to swing the stone into place. “Will you hold the candle?” he asked. She was trembling so violently that her fingers were soon covered with hot grease, but she did not feel the smart of the boiling wax; her eyes were fixed upon the man, fascinated. He was lighting a new storm lantern which burnt, she guessed, paraffin gas, and it took some time before a brilliant bright light illuminated the room in which she found herself. It was twice the size of the apartment above, and neither the walls nor the floor had fallen into decay. It was almost as new-looking as it had been when the Norman builders had handed it to the Black Fathers of Chelfordbury. The first unusual things she saw were two sporting rifles that stood in a corner of the room. Following her eyes, he smiled. “I shall not sell my life without a struggle,” he said firmly. The furniture consisted of a very old refectory table, the top of which must have been at least four inches in thickness, a long form, and a high chair that looked like a bishop’s throne. There were no visible windows, but the ceiling did not quite reach the wall, and there seemed a space all round the room where air was admitted. “Excuse me,” he said. He took the thing he had been carrying, unrolled it, and to her astonishment, kissed it passionately before he carried it to a truckle-bed that she had not noticed before and tacked it to a beam which showed between the stone courses and was in truth the only wood she had seen in the building. She looked in amazement, and knew the picture instantly. It was the head of his mother. “How lovely!” he sighed. “How wonderful! Do you know, I feel that nothing matters now, Leslie!” He smiled at her, and looked at that moment so happy that she could have cried. “Richard hated her,” he went on. “He never lost an opportunity of speaking ill of her. I am told that in my absence he used to bring the servants into the library and together they would laugh and gibe at this beautiful martyr.” “How absurd, Harry! You know Dick would do no such thing,” she said, stirred to his defence. But he was not angry, nor did he show any resentment at her championship.