"Feel, Sir John. This is the ledge where they say the Nun slept; creepers hang over it, and behind these creepers--listen, Sir John, listen!" and he knocked sharply against the stone wall. "Hollow! It's true! This is no solid wall as it seems. Feel, Sir John, your finger on the edge of this great slab. A doorway built up, and not so long ago. Listen! Hollow! It's true, it's true!" and Martin jumped and clapped his hands like a child. "Yes, it's hollow, sure enough," said Sir John. "Light and a pick. We'll be in the treasure chamber before morning. Wait, Sir John, I'll get them." "Stop, Martin; where are you going?" "For a light and a pick," and he climbed out by the creepers in the corner. "I know the treasure has been hidden there. I have seen it in my dreams." "Be quick, Martin." "I shall make more haste than I have ever done in my life before," he answered, bending over the edge by the corner. "Poor Rosmore! poor highwayman! Only a wife and a gibbet for them. But for us--" "Stop talking, Martin, and let us get to work," came the answer from below. "I wonder whether Mistress Barbara will make a promise?" And Martin cut and wrenched at the creepers where they clung to the stone floor and fallen masonry at the top. "What are you doing?" said Sir John. "Freeing myself from the creepers. That's done. I'll hasten, Sir John, never fear." Something moved in the dark, sunken room, scraping and sliding. "Martin!" Sir John could hear the sound of his footsteps quickly lessening in the distance, but there was no answer to his call. "Martin!" Still no answer, and the sound of the footsteps had gone. Sir John, with his hands stretched out before him, crossed to the corner where he had come down. His hands came in contact with a tangle of creepers, hanging loose, from the wall. The ladder was broken! Martin Fairley went swiftly to the terrace and on to one of the stone bridges over the stream. Then he paused and listened. "He will have to cry loudly to be heard to-night. Grant that he may find no escape until morning." Then he crossed the bridge and went swiftly through the woods. CHAPTER XXVI THE FLIGHT Dorchester was in mourning. If there had been any hope that Mercy and Justice would go hand in hand, if there were a lingering belief that Judge Jeffreys might not be so cruel as it was said, such hopes and beliefs were quickly dispelled the moment that court with its scarlet hangings was opened. Even Judge Marriott shrank a little as his learned brother bullied and laughed and swore at the prisoners, bidding them plead guilty as their only hope of escape, and then condemning them to the gibbet with the ferocity of a drunken fiend. Pity crept into the hard faces of rough soldiers; the devilishness of this judge appalled even them.