secret cupboard
this time--only a wardrobe, which he usually kept locked, and from which he
now took out two or three dresses and perukes of different colours, and a
couple of swords of a pretty make (Father Holt was an expert practitioner
with the small sword, and every day, whilst he was at home, he and his
pupil practised this exercise, in which the lad became a very great
proficient), a military coat and cloak, and a farmer's smock, and placed
them in the large hole over the mantelpiece from which the papers had been
taken.

"If they miss the cupboard," he said, "they will not find these; if they
find them, they'll tell no tales, except that Father Holt wore more suits
of clothes than one. All Jesuits do. You know what deceivers we are,
Harry."

Harry was alarmed at the notion that his friend was about to leave him;
but "No", the priest said; "I may very likely come back with my lord in a
few days. We are to be tolerated; we are not to be persecuted. But they
may take a fancy to pay a visit at Castlewood ere our return; and, as
gentlemen of my cloth are suspected, they might choose to examine my
papers, which concern nobody--at least, not them." And to this day, whether
the papers in cipher related to politics, or to the affairs of that
mysterious society whereof Father Holt was a member, his pupil, Harry
Esmond, remains in entire ignorance.

The rest of his goods, his small wardrobe, &c., Holt left untouched on his
shelves and in his cupboard, taking down--with a laugh, however--and
flinging into the brazier, where he only half burned them, some
theological treatises which he had been writing against the English
divines. "And now," said he, "Henry, my son, you may testify, with a safe
conscience, that you saw me burning Latin sermons the last time I was here
before I went away to London; and it will be daybreak directly, and I must
be away before Lockwood is stirring."

"Will not Lockwood let you out, sir?" Esmond asked. Holt laughed; he was
never more gay or good-humoured than when in the midst of action or
danger.

"Lockwood knows nothing of my being here, mind you," he said; "nor would
you, you little wretch, had you slept better. You must forget that I have
been here; and now farewell. Close the door, and go to your own room, and
don't come out till--stay, why should you not know one secret more? I know
you will never betray me."

In the chaplain's room were two windows; the one looking into the court