charmingly."

With that he crept gently down the stairs. In a corner, at the foot of
the staircase, lay sundry matters, a few faggots, and a cleaver. He
caught up the last. "Aha," he muttered; "and there's the sledge-hammer
somewhere for Walters." Leaning himself against the door, he then
applied his eye to a chink which admitted a dim view of the room within,
lighted fitfully by the fire.



CHAPTER II.

"What have we here?
A carrion death!"
/Merchant of Venice/, Act ii. Sc. 7.

IT was about this time that the stranger deemed it advisable to commence
his retreat. The slight and suppressed sound of voices, which at first
he had heard above in the conversation of the father and child, had died
away. The stillness at once encouraged and warned him. He stole to the
front door, softly undid the bolt, and found the door locked, and the
key missing. He had not observed that during his repast, and ere his
suspicions had been aroused, his host, in replacing the bar, and
relocking the entrance, had abstracted the key. His fears were now
confirmed. His next thought was the window--the shutter only protected
it half-way, and was easily removed; but the aperture of the lattice,
which only opened in part like most cottage casements, was far too small
to admit his person. His only means of escape was in breaking the whole
window; a matter not to be effected without noise and consequent risk.