But you mustn't touch their brothers, for if you do--oh my! You have them on to you at once. Here, I say, I wish you wouldn't talk like that."

"Well, I will not. I don't want to go away and leave you, but I must.

I can think of nothing else."

"But why?"

"Because I am shut up here alone so much, a prisoner."

"Yes, but it's only until it's safe for you to go away. You must see that you ought to be patient. There, I'll bring you up books to read, to amuse you."

"I can't read them. They wouldn't amuse me with my mind in this state."

"Well; then, have a look at some of my things," cried Waller, pulling out the drawer of a big press. "These are all traps and springs with which I catch birds and animals in the forest. Bunny Wrigg taught me how to make them and how to use them. I wish you knew him. He's a capital fellow, and knows the forest ten times better than I do."

"Oh, I don't want to know the forest--nor, your friend," said the lad wearily. "I want to be free to come and go--as free as the birds and those little animals, the squirrels, that I see out of the window."

"Yes, of course you do, and so you shall be soon," cried Waller. "But you haven't quite recovered yet from that feverishness and all you went through. I say, have a look in this drawer."

Waller thrust the open one in and pulled out another. "Look here, these are my old nets with which we drag the hammer pond, and catch the carp and tench; great golden fellows they are, some of them; but the worst of it is the pond's so deep that the fish dive under the net and escape."

"And those which do not," said the lad sadly, "you take in that net and make prisoners of them. Poor things! And what good are they to you when you have caught them?"

"Good? Good to eat! I say, what a fellow you are to talk of the fish one catches as prisoners! Carp and tench are not human beings."

"No, they are not human beings," said the lad, smiling sadly; "but they are prisoners, the same as I am."

"Oh, I say, what stuff! To call yourself a prisoner, when you are only a visitor here, and could come and go just as you like--at least, not quite, for it wouldn't be safe; but it will be soon."

"What's that coil of new rope for?"

"That?" cried Waller. "Oh, that's a new rope for my drag-net. The old one was quite worn out. You shall help me to fit this on if you like."

"Thank you. I'll help you if you wish."

"Well, I do wish, when you get well; but I don't care to see you in the dumps like this. Of course I know what it is: it's being shut up in this room for so long. A few good walks in the forest would make you as right as could be."

"Yes," said the lad wearily. "I feel as if I should like to be out again, for I often think when I am shut up here that it's like being a bird in a cage."

"Ah, you won't feel that long," said Waller.

It was the very next day when, after taking his new friend a selection of what he considered interesting books, Waller announced that he should not come upstairs again till the evening, for he had several things to do, and among others to write a letter to his father in London, and then take it to the village post-office for despatch.

"I don't think that either of the maids is likely to come up," said Waller, at parting; "but if they should try the door, all you have got to do is to keep quite still. Of course, you will lock yourself in as soon as I am gone. Shall I bring you anything else to eat before I go?"

"No," said the lad, with a weary look of disgust. "You bring me too much as it is; more than I care to have. Don't bring me any more till I ask."

"I shall," said Waller, with a laugh. "I am not going to have you starve yourself to death up in my room. There, jump up and come and shut the door, and then have a good long read. I'll get back to you as soon as I can, and then we will have a good game at draughts or chess.

But I mustn't be up here too much, or it will make the girls suspicious.

There, good-bye for the present."

Waller went down and busied himself at once over the letter to his father, telling him of some of the things that were going on, but carefully--though strongly tempted--omitting all allusion to the fugitive.

It was rather a slow and laborious task for the boy, clever as he was at most things, though none too able in the use of a quill pen. But he got his letter finished at last, the big post-paper carefully folded and sealed, and then went off to the post-bag at the little village shop, before hurrying back home to partake of his tea, which was waiting.

It was a lonely meal, and the boy sighed as he stirred the sugar, and wished he could have G.o.dfrey Boyne down, as companion for himself, and to cheer the poor fellow up.

It was quite dark by the time he had done, and with the full intention of suggesting that they should wait till the girls had gone to bed, and then steal down together for a walk in the forest, the boy rose to go and make an observation or two as to the position of the servants, before stealing up to join his friend.

Waller rose, went across to the bell, the pull of which he had taken in his hand, when he was startled by a distant scream, followed by half a dozen more, and the trampling of feet somewhere above, while, as he rushed out into the hall, he was just in time to hear a door bang and quick steps hurrying along the kitchen pa.s.sage.

CHAPTER TEN.

ALARMING SOUNDS.

The thoughts of G.o.dfrey Boyne occupied so much position in Waller's brain that he at once concluded something must be wrong with him, and rushing upstairs two at a time, and making sure that he was not followed, he continued the rest of his way in the darkness as silently as he could, pausing to listen at the top of the attic stairs, and then cautiously creeping to and trying the door of his den.

All was perfectly still there, and he found the door fastened from within.

"False alarm," he said to himself; and he crept down again to make his way to the kitchen, from which, as he drew nearer, there came faint hysterical cries and a most unpleasant smell of burning.

Hurrying into the kitchen, Waller found that the cries came from Bella, who was lying upon her back upon the shred hearthrug in front of the kitchen fire, while Martha was trying to bring her fellow-servant round from a fainting fit, and causing the horrible stench by burning the dried wing of a goose close to the girl's nostrils and making her sneeze violently.

"Oh dear! Oh dear!" cried Bella, uttering a sob, and then giving vent to a tremendous sneeze.

"Bless the King!" said Martha Gusset quietly. "Sneeze again, dear; it'll do you no end of good."

The advice came rather late, for the girl's face was already wrinkling up for another nervous convulsion that seemed stronger than the last.

"Bless the King!" said the cook again, "There, there, dear: you will be better soon."

"What's the matter, Martha?" said Waller anxiously, and with a horrible dread upon him that all had been found out.

"She's had a fright, my dear. I don't quite know yet what it all means.

She thinks she's seen something, but I daresay it's only one of them owls."

"Oh, no, no, no, no!" sobbed Bella, "it was something dreadful-- something dreadful!"

"Well, well, then, my dear, tell us what it is," said Martha, in her most motherly way, "and it will do you good."

"Oh, it was dreadful!" moaned Bella. "I remembered that I had forgotten to shut the window in master's chamber, which I opened this afternoon to let the sun in and get the room aired, and without stopping to fetch a light I went up in the dark, and then--and then--Oh dear! Oh dear! Oh dear! Oh dear!"

"Take another sniff of the feathers, my dear, and have a good sneeze, and that will relieve you."

"Oh, do a-done, cook, and throw the nasty thing behind the fire. I was just coming out again into the gallery, when I heard something horrid."

"Heard?" cried Waller excitedly. "Then you didn't see it?"