But Luke was not there; and Captain Lake recollecting his habits and his haunt, hurried on to the 'Silver Lion,' which has its gable towards the common, only about a hundred steps away, for distances are not great in Gylingden. Here were the flow of soul and of stout, long pipes, long yarns, and tolerably long credits; and the humble scapegraces of the town resorted thither for the pleasures of a club-life, and often revelled deep into the small hours of the morning. So Luke came forth. D-- it, where's the note?' said the captain, rummaging uneasily in his pockets. 'You know me--eh!' 'Captain Lake. Yes, Sir.' 'Well--oh! here it is.' It was a scrap pencilled on the back of a letter-- 'LUKE WAGGOT, 'Put the horse to and drive the dog-cart to the "White House." Look out for me there. We must catch the up mail train at Dollington. Be lively. If Captain Lake chooses to drive you need not come. 'M. WYLDER.' 'I'll drive,' said Captain Lake. 'Lose no time and I'll give you half-a-crown.' Luke stuck on his greasy wideawake, and in a few minutes more the dog-cart was trundled out into the lane, and the horse harnessed, went between the shafts with that wonderful cheerfulness with which they bear to be called up under startling circumstances at unseasonable hours. 'Easily earned, Luke,' said Captain Lake, in his soft tones. The captain had buttoned the collar of his loose coat across his face, and it was dark beside. But Luke knew his peculiar smile, and presumed it; so he grinned facetiously as he put the coin in his breeches pocket and thanked him; and in another minute the captain, with a lighted cigar between his lips, mounted to the seat, took the reins, the horse bounded off, and away rattled the light conveyance, sparks flying from the road, at a devil of a pace, down the deserted street of Gylingden, and quickly melted in darkness. That night a spectre stood by old Tamar's bedside, in shape of her young mistress, and shook her by the shoulder, and stooping, said sternly, close in her face-- 'Tamar, I'm going away--only for a few days; and mind this--I'd rather be _dead_ than any creature living should know it. Little Margery must not suspect--you'll manage that. Here's the key of my bed-room--say I'm sick--and you must go in and out, and bring tea and drinks, and talk and whisper a little, you understand, as you might with a sick person, and keep the shutters closed; and if Miss Brandon sends to ask me to the Hall, say I've a headache, and fear I can't go. You understand me clearly, Tamar?' 'Yes, Miss Radie,' answered old Tamar, wonder-stricken, with a strange expression of fear in her face. 'And listen,' she continued, 'you must go into my room, and bring the message back, as if from me, with _my love_ to Miss Brandon; and if she or Mrs. William Wylder, the vicar's wife, should call to see me, always say I'm asleep and a little better. You see exactly what I mean?'