"And you have had no raidings from Colonel Danforth's troop?" asked Lord Geoffry. Boyd laughed disdainfully. "His soldiery have occasionally moved toward the Manor, my lord, but even that seldom. I confess, I have been surprised at my good fortune. One afternoon Danforth and his company galloped past the crossroads, a couple of miles down yonder, and asked one of my neighbors, 'Who lives up yonder?' 'Boyd of Windlestrae,' says the lad. 'Well, then, we'll go no further up that way to-day!' cries Danforth; 'that man Boyd is as sound a Whig as ourselves and his wine is most properly bad.' So away they rode, good riddance to them." "Safe for long or not, I can at least be sure of a supper and a bedchamber less airy than a tree," Lord Armitage responded cheerily; "and both I will enjoy, although Danforth suddenly alter his mind and come to open every closet in your Manor House." "Hm!" grunted Boyd, with a peculiar expression. "He will hardly do _that_." They passed thatched barns and low stables. It was now growing murky and dark. The Manor House was next reached, a rambling but dignified structure, built of gray stone and apparently remarkably roomy and comfortable. Gilbert pushed open the thick oaken door and motioned his guest to enter. One or two servants were hurrying along the wainscoted hall, running in and out of a dining-parlor. Andrew appeared from this, and with him an elderly woman, Mistress Janet Annan, the housekeeper, who courtesied to the master and the unexpected guest. Andrew's mother had died in giving birth to her only child. The hall and aforesaid dining-parlor were brightly lighted. The excellent supper--to which Lord Armitage did ravenous justice, seconded by Andrew--was hurried through in silence; Boyd absorbed in ministering to the wants of his guest. In the Manor it was already rumored that the master had suddenly met an old friend; and this explanation satisfied the present curiosity of the servants' hall. "To-morrow morning they shall be told the truth," Boyd said reflectively. "They must not be permitted to gossip. They are all loyal-hearted men and women. And now, my lord," he continued, as Lord Geoffry pushed back his chair from the table and exclaimed, "I am quite another man already!" in his refreshment--"now you must to your rest without a moment's loss. To-morrow we can discuss together the means of forwarding you to the sea-coast. Candles, son Andrew! To the Purple Chamber." Andrew led the way up a staircase of very respectable breadth and ease. The room designated as "the Purple Chamber"--from sundry faded hangings--proved a fair-sized apartment with three casements and a low-studded ceiling. A formidable four-posted bed and accompanying furniture graced it, and a trifle of fire flickered on the hearth. Gilbert locked the door, as Andrew set down the candlesticks on a tall chest of drawers. "Nay, wait my lad," he said, as he turned toward the door, "I have something to impart to both our guests and you."