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-humored 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
facing westwards to the fountain; the other, a small casement strongly
barred, and looking on to the green in front of the Hall. This window
was too high to reach from the ground; but, mounting on a buffet which
stood beneath it, Father Holt showed me how, by pressing on the base
of the window, the whole framework of lead, glass, and iron stanchions