"Lookye, Colonel!" said Rumbold, when, after a brief interval, he had succeeded, with Master Sheppard's aid, in hauling Rumsey to his feet again and landing him safe on the top of the steps. "Half an inch more and you'd have been under water." "'Twas those confounded nettles," growled the discomfited Rumsey, rubbing himself all over, and glaring vindictively behind him at the dank weed tangle all crushed into greenish mud under his heavy weight, while Rumbold and Sheppard busied themselves in hastily collecting the scattered contents of the fallen load. "Have you got them all?" "Ay, ay," answered Rumbold. "Come along, Colonel. They're waiting for us." "There were twelve," said Rumsey. "Well, well, we can make another search presently," impatiently returned Rumbold. "There's no fear. The place hereabouts is haunted, the credulous yokels will tell you; and they'd sooner die than set foot in it after nightfall. So come. Have with you, Master Sheppard." And followed by Sheppard the two walked towards the house. [Sidenote: Lawrence Lee hesitates.] And Lawrence? What has been his share in this unexpected scene? Hardly that of an amazed spectator, Ruth thinks, while she watches the hurried, half-stealthy nod of recognition bestowed on him by the new-comer, as the three men pass within a few yards of the spot where he is standing. Gloomily the young man returns their greeting, but he remains motionless as any stone statue, making no attempt to join them; and when they have disappeared he casts a wistful glance at his own little craft, where she lies moored in a fall flood of moonlight, and sighing so heavily that Ruth can hear the sound of it ever so distinctly in the silence, for not so much as a leaf is stirring now Then he turns, and, taking the narrow footpath leading to the front porch of the inn, is lost in its shadows. [Sidenote: The postern gate.] Ruth rose from her hiding-place, listening intently. All quiet at last; and gathering the tiffany skirts close about her, she sped like a lapwing through the brushwood towards a little postern-gate in the red wall, and tapped at it softly. CHAPTER III. MAUDLIN SWEETAPPLE. "Marry! and so here you be at last, child!" said a half-glad, half-chiding, cracked, treble voice, as a brown withered hand unfastened the door from within. "Have you seen your father?" "Let me come in, Maudlin, dear. Quick!" was all Ruth's response as she hurriedly slipped inside; and then, carefully closing the postern, she seized Maudlin by the elbow, and dragged her along the gravel path till they stood under a groined arch, in whose recesses two stout nail-studded oaken doors faced each other.