When we had passed through Epworth, we rattled on faster, and in half an hour arrived at the gates opening into the grounds of Melwood Priory, a house which had had many tenants since the Carthusians were driven out of it, and all unlucky. It had stood unoccupied now for ten or a dozen years, falling into decay, and was believed to be haunted by the ghost of Matthew Meekness, the last lord prior. Few persons cared to enter its precincts alone, even by day, and fewer still would dare to enter them by night. My conductors had chosen a very safe place of concealment for whatever crime they had in view. We entered the avenue, or rather what had been one, for all the trees had been cut down long ago, and the cart bumped and joggled along the unkempt road until it came to a stand at the main entrance. My captors pulled me out of the cart, carried me in, and down some steps into a large, vaulted chamber, which, as I saw by the light of a fire of logs blazing on the hearth, showed such signs of occupation as a table, a chair, several stools, a rough couch, pots and pans on a shelf, and other odds and ends. Here they laid me down on the floor and left me. I heard coming and going, slamming of doors, shouts of laughter, and supposed my captors were telling their story to comrades, but I could not think. My head throbbed fearfully, and my limbs were cramped and cut by the ropes with which I was bound. In a while, the driver of the cart came in, attended by the Moor, carrying a lamp, which he placed on the table. The driver knelt down beside me. His fringe of beard had gone, and I knew him. It was Boswell. He took the gag out of my mouth, and said-- "Perhaps I needn't tell you where you are, Mr. Vavasour--on the lowest floor of Melwood Priory. There is only one door by which you could get out, and it is bolted and barred and well guarded. There are six men at my call, everyone well armed. Resistance is hopeless, and can only end in your being baldy mauled. I am going to cut your cords, and I hope for your own sake you won't try to play any pranks." I made no answer, but he released me, and handed the one chair to me. My limbs were so benumbed that I had something to do to get up and seat myself. "Now," Boswell said, "hand me that bundle, Musty." The negro produced it from a corner. "I want your clothes, which you must take off, even to your shirt, and put on these. Leave your pockets as they are." I obeyed, for I saw the odds were too great for me to dispute with the fellow, but contrived to hide and keep my love-token, which I wore round my neck. The clothing given to me in place of my own was clean and decent, but of the commonest homespun. "Will you give me your word to make no attempt at escape?" asked Boswell. "If so, I will spare you these things"--picking up manacles and fetters from underneath the couch. "I will give no promise of any kind," I answered.