Upstairs, in the little dressing-room, the panel was opened by means of tugging a small candlesconce in the wall. Let me only wear your livery. Spurlock slept on. " "What faith is to be kept with a felon?" replied the woollen-draper, disdainfully. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. There was already a score or more of people there, some standing up and talking together, others seated in chairs ranged along the wall. John knew better. And, now, to find a messenger. He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened.
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