hen into my dungeon
home! I stepped inside, and Gabord ordered the ropes off my person
somewhat roughly, watched the soldiers till they were well away, and
then leaned against the wall, waiting for me to speak. I had no impulse
to smile, but I knew how I could most touch him, and so I said lightly,
"You've got dickey-bird home again."

He answered nothing and turned towards the door, leaving the torch stuck
in the wall. But he suddenly stopped short, and suddenly thrust out to
me a tiny piece of paper.

"A hand touched mine as I went through the Chateau," said he, "and when
out I came, look you, this here! I can't see to read. What does it say?"
he added, with a shrewd attempt at innocence.

I opened the little paper, held it towards the torch, and read:

"Because of the storm there is no sleeping. Is there not the watcher
aloft? Shall the sparrow fall unheeded? The wicked shall be confounded."

It was Alixe's writing. She had hazarded this in the hands of my jailer
as her only hope, and, knowing that he might not serve her, had put her
message in vague sentences which I readily interpreted. I read the
words aloud to him, and he laughed, and remarked, "'Tis a foolish thing
that--The Scarlet Woman, mast like."

"Most like," I answered quietly; "yet what should she be doing there at
the Chateau?"

"The mad go everywhere," he answered, "even to the intendance!"

With that he left me, going, as he said, "to fetch crumbs and wine."
Exhausted with the day's business, I threw myself upon my couch, drew my
cloak over me, composed myself, and in a few minutes was sound asleep.
I waked to find Gabord in the dungeon, setting out food upon a board
supported by two stools.

"'Tis custom to feed your dickey-bird ere you fetch him to the pot." he
said, and drew the cork from a bottle of wine.

He watched me as I ate and talked, but he spoke little. When I had
finished, he fetched a packet of tobacco from his pocket. I offered him
money, but he refused it, and I did not press him, for he said the food
and wine were not of his buying. Presently he left, and came back with
pens, ink, paper, and candles, which be laid out on my couch without
words.

After a little he came again, and laid a book on the improvised table
before me. It was an English Bible. Opening it, I found inscribed on
the fly-leaf, Charles Wainfleet, Chaplain to the British Army. Gabord
explained that this chaplain had been in the citadel for some weeks;
th