he
house was perfectly dark except for the flickering light of the woman's
lamp, and silent except for the noise of the footsteps and the rush of a
mouse now and then behind the woodwork.

At the third landing she stopped, and came close up to Anthony.

"That is the door," she whispered hoarsely; and pointed with her thumb
towards a doorway that was opposite the staircase. "Ask for Master
Roger."

And then without saying any more, she set the lamp down on the flat head
of the top banister and herself began to shuffle downstairs again into
the dark house.

Anthony stood still a moment, his heart beating a little. What was this
strange errand? and Isabel! what had she to do with this house buried
away in the courts of the great city? As he waited he heard a door close
somewhere behind him, and the shuffling footsteps had ceased. He touched
the hilt of his knife once again to give himself courage; and then walked
slowly across and rapped on the door. Instantly a voice full of trembling
expectancy, cried to him to come in; he turned the handle and stepped
into the fire-lit room.

It was extremely poorly furnished; a rickety table stood in the centre
with a book or two and a basin with a plate, a saucepan hissed and
bubbled on the fire; in the corner near the window stood a poor bed; and
to this Anthony's attention was immediately directed by a voice that
called out hoarsely:

"Thank God, sir, thank God, sir, you have come! I feared you would not."

Anthony stepped towards it wondering and expectant, but reassured. Lying
in the bed, with clothes drawn up to the chin was the figure of a man.
There was no light in the room, save that given by the leaping flames on
the hearth; and Anthony could only make out the face of a man with a
patch over one eye; the man stretched a hand over the bed clothes as he
came near, and Anthony took it, a little astonished, and received a
strong trembling grip of apparent excitement and relief: "Thank God,
sir!" the man said again, "but there is not too much time."

"How can I serve you?" said Anthony, sitting on a chair near the bedside.
"Your letter spoke of friends at Great Keynes. What did you mean by
that?"

"Is the d-door closed, sir?" asked the man anxiously; stuttering a little
as he spoke.

Anthony stepped up and closed it firmly; and then came back and sat down
again.

"Well then, sir; I believe you are a friend of the priest Mr.
M-Maxwell's."

Anthony shook his head.