wly, as I
swallowed the nourishment, I began to wonder why I was propped up in
bed, being fed with a spoon in my old room at Coverthorne. Had I been
ill? or had I met with an accident? What had Miles and I been doing?
Then suddenly, like a landscape coming into view through a
quickly-vanishing mist, the recollection of past events came flooding
into my mind. I remembered it all now--the captured coach, the sea
cavern, and the dark subterranean tunnel.

"George!" I cried--"George Woodley! Is he safe? He was with me in the
passage."

"Yes, he's quite safe," answered Mrs. Coverthorne, with a smile. "He's
down in the kitchen now, having his dinner. You shall see him again
by-and-by, but just for the present you must keep very quiet and not
talk."

It seemed no hardship for the time being to lie warm and snug in bed,
and in the wakeful intervals between my dozes I recalled and pieced
together the whole story of our adventure. Once when I woke I was
surprised to find Mr. Denny in the room, standing gazing out of the
window with his hands under his coat tails. Some slight movement on my
part caused him to turn; he smiled and nodded, and moved towards the
bed.

"Feeling as if you could relish a good beef-steak and slice of
pudding?" he inquired.

"Not just yet," I answered feebly. "O Mr. Denny," I continued,
remembering something which, since my return of memory, had been
puzzling my brain, "was that the secret place that George and I
discovered?"

"Yes," he answered; "but I fancy you discovered something more
important than the hidden chamber." He said this with a dry chuckle,
and producing his little tortoise-shell box took a pinch of snuff.

"What was that?" I asked languidly.

"Well, I don't think you'd understand if I told you. Better wait, and
you shall hear all in good time."

I must have slept most of that day. Thanks to my youth and good
constitution, I was suffering from nothing worse than exhaustion and a
severe cold, and I was much stronger when Miles came to see me the
following morning.

He had already heard our story from George Woodley; indeed, I think
that by this time there was hardly a man, woman, or child on the whole
countryside but had listened to a more or less exaggerated narrative of
our adventures. In some of these garbled accounts George and I were
reported to have done and endured the most extraordinary things. One
old lady, to her dying day, could never be persuaded oth