An hour later, when he knew that his mother had retired, he removed his shoes, and noiselessly carried the dead cat downstairs and out of doors, throwing it down among some bushes, where it might appear that the poor thing had there parted with life. Back in his room, Percy locked his door, and set a table against it, and then went to bed, and finally to sleep. On the following morning he was up with the sun; and by the time he had performed his ablution, and completed his toilet, he had resolved fully upon the course he would pursue. He would make no complaint to his mother; he would tell her nothing of what he had discovered, unless she should push him. Yet he meant to put the laboring oar into her hand. She could demand what of explanation she pleased. He possessed but little personal property. All the furniture in the cottage was the property of his mother, though a portion of it he had purchased. He had his clothing, a few valuable weapons--three swords, half a dozen pistols of different sizes and patterns, a fine rifle, and three fowling-pieces, or one of them was a proper king’s-arm musket. This property he collected--not together, but so arranged it that it could handily and quickly be taken in hand and carried away. He then went below, with the bottle in his hand, finding Margery just out from her sleeping-room, which was on the ground floor. He met her eye as he entered the living-room, and saw that she was shaken. A tremor shook her from head to foot. Her countenance was not that of a happy woman. Evidently she was not proud of what she had done, nor quite satisfied with it. “Mother,” he said, in his usual pleasant tone, but with a tinge of sadness in it, “I have brought back the wine.” “You--you did not drink any of it?” she said interrogatively, as she took the bottle from his hand. She certainly had not looked to see if any of the contents were gone. “No--I did not care to.” “You were not afraid of it, I hope.” “Not particularly afraid of it, because I knew it could not harm me if I did not taste it. We are all of us, more or less, the creatures of our fancy; and I am willing to confess to you that I took a very strong fancy that it would be best for me not to drink from this bottle.” “Percy! What do you mean? I hope you--I hope--pshaw! If you’re afraid of being poisoned here you’d better go up to the castle and make your home there. I’ve no doubt they would welcome you with open arms. Oh, what a word I could whisper in that old--” She stopped suddenly, in full career, as though struck dumb. She looked for a moment longer into the young and handsome face before her; then turned on her heel, and went out into the kitchen, taking the wine bottle with her.