"She be going to look over the owd house again, Gorringe," shouted Gemp,
as he watched the dark veiled figure. "You mark my words; they're a
coming back, and he'll be keeping bank; and the sooner thou teks out thy
money the better."
There was a strange echo in the place that made a shudder run through
Millicent Hallam's frame as she turned the key; but she had nerved
herself to her task, and though hands and brow were damp, she did not
hesitate, but went in.
A quick glance told her that a couple of score pairs of eyes were
watching her movements, but for that she was prepared, and, taking out
the key, she inserted it in the inside of the lock, closed the door, and
slipped one of the rusty bolts.
"I must be firm," she muttered as she glanced round the empty hall,
shuddering as she recalled the scene on that night, and seeming to see
once more the crowd--the fire--her husband struggling for his life.
"I will not think," she cried, stamping her foot, and placing her hands
to her eyes, as if to shut out the terrible recollections; and an echo
ran through the place, and seemed to go from room to room and die away
in the great attic where Julia used to play.
No; she had not come to stand face to face with the ghosts of past
memories: she had driven them away. She did not go into the old
panelled dining-room, where she had watched for such long hours for her
husband's return, neither did she turn the handle to enter the
melancholy cobweb-hung drawing-room, or note that the papers in the
chambers were soiled and faded and different, and that the damp made
some hang in festoons from the corners, and other pieces fold right over
and peel down from the wall.
No; she paused for none of these, but, as if moved by some strong
impulse, ran right up to the top of the house, and stood in the great
attic lumber-room, brightly lit by a skylight, and a dormer at the
farther end.
Then, with her heart beating quickly, she took from her bosom the
portion she had cut from Hallam's letter, and read it in a low, hoarse
voice.
"Go to Castor if you have left there, and get possession of the old
house for a day if it is empty. If not, you must get there by some
excuse that your woman's wit may find. As a last resource, take it,
and buy the tenant out at any cost, but get there. Go alone, and take
with you a hammer and screw-driver. Shut yourself up securely in the
place, and then go upstairs to the attic where we kept the old lumber.
There, on the right-hand side of the fireplace, in the built-up wall,
just one foot from the floor, and right in the centre, drive in the
screw-driver with the hammer, and chip away the plaster. Do not fail.
You will find there a little recess carefully plastered, and papered
over. In that recess is a small locked tin box. Take it out, and
bring it to me unopened. That box contains papers of vital importance
to me, for they will set me free.
"Read above again. Strike in the screw-driver boldly, for the box is
there, and I charge you, my wife, to bring it safely and untouched to
me.
"Once more, this must be secretly done. No one must know but you. If
it were known, I might not succeed in getting my liberty."
Millicent Hallam thrust the paper back in her bosom and stood there in
that unoccupied room with a strange buzzing in her ears, and films
floating before her eyes.
"I am choking," she gasped; "water--air."
She reeled, and seemed about to fall, but by a supreme effort she forced
her tottering way to the dormer window, opened it, and the fresh air
recovered her.
"Oh, for strength--strength!" she gasped as she clung to the sill. "It
is for his freedom--to save him I am come."
Her words gave her the force, and, looking down, she saw that her act
had been observed by those who watched the house.
That gave her additional strength, and, with a look of contempt, she
closed the window and was calm. Quickly opening her bag, she took from
it a stout short hammer and a screw-driver.
"I must risk the noise," she said, as she drew off her gloves; and then
noting the spot described in the directions, she found the paper ready
to peel off on being touched, and placing the screw-driver just where
she had been told, she struck the end sharply and stopped, trembling,
for the blow resounded throughout the house.
The cold sweat gathered on her face, and she began to tremble; but,
smiling at her fears, she doubled her gloves, held them on the top of
the screw-driver, and struck again and again, driving the chisel end
right into the plaster, through which, after a blow or two, it passed,
and her heart throbbed, for there was the hollow place behind, just as
the letter said.
At that moment there was a loud sound without, as of a blow upon the
front door, and she stopped, trembling, to listen.
No; it was the jolt of a heavy-laden springiest cart, and as it rattled
over the cobble-stones she struck again and again with quick haste at
the plaster, and then, wrenching, tore out piece after piece, till she
could thrust in her hand to utter a cry of joy, for she touched a tin
box.
The rest was the work of a few minutes. She had only to enlarge the
hole a little, and then she could draw out that of which she was in
search--a black, dust-covered tin box about the width and depth of an
ordinary brick, but a couple or three inches longer.
Her hands were scratched and bleeding, and covered with lime, but she
did not heed that in her excitement. Raising the box to her lips she
kissed it, and taking out her kerchief wiped from it the dust. Then she
asked herself the question, what should she do next, now that the
treasure, the sacred papers that should prove her husband's innocence,
were found? It was easy enough. The box was light, as one containing
papers would be, and would just pass into her travelling satchel. That,
was soon done and the strings drawn. Then there were the hammer and
screw-driver.
She looked around. There was a loose board close by, easily lifted, and
down beneath this she thrust the hammer, while a rat-hole at the base of
the wall invited occupation for the screw-driver.
The plaster? The wall? She could do nothing there. It was impossible
to hide that, and she stood trembling again. But who would suspect her,
if any one came? She glanced at herself, brushed off a few scraps of
plaster, and put on her gloves over her bleeding hands. A thought
struck her: she might lock the door of the attic.
Again she started, for there was a sound below, a loud rat-tat at the
front door, and she stood with her heart beating horribly till she heard
the sound of racing footsteps and a burst of children's laughter. Some
mischievous urchins had knocked at the door of the empty house.
Forcing herself to be calm, Millicent Hallam felt the box in her bag,
and asked herself whether she had fully obeyed her husband's command and
succeeded. Was this the box? She repeated the directions with her eyes
fixed upon the spot from whence she had extracted it. Yes; there could
be no mistake, she must be right, and, lowering her veil, she passed out
of the attic with its littered floor, closed and locked the door, took
out the key, and descended as if in a dream to the hall, where she
paused to satisfy herself that her dress showed no traces of her work,
and that the box was safely hidden.
All was right, and she drew a long breath.
And now once more came the tremor and faintness; the memories of the old
place seemed to be crowding round her; and in the agony of her spirit
she felt that she would faint, and perhaps all would be discovered. She
fought this down and another horror assailed her. She had come there
like a thief; she had broken open part of the house and stolen this case
which she was bearing away, and she trembled like a leaf. But once more
her womanhood and faith asserted themselves.
"His papers, his own hiding, in our own house," she said proudly.
"Robert, husband, I have them safe. I will bear them to you over the
sea."
Opening the door with firm hand she passed out, the soft pure air
reviving her, and she started, for a well-known voice said:
"I will close the door for you, Mrs Hallam. Forgive me for coming.
You have been so long, I had grown uneasy."
"Long?" she said, looking at Bayle wildly.
"Yes; time passes quickly when we are deep in thought. It is two hours
since you left me at the cottage."
It had seemed to her but a few minutes' wild, exciting search.