Walter paced up and down in despair, vowing that it was a
trick to get a spy into the house. Edmund sat down in the large arm-
chair with a calm resolute look, saying, "I must surrender, then.
Neither I nor my horse can go further without rest. I will yield as
a prisoner of war, and well that it is to a man of honour."
"Oh no, no!" cried Rose: "he says Cromwell treats his prisoners as
rebels. It would be certain death!"
"What news of the King?" asked Edmund, anxiously.
"Not seen since the flight? but--"
"And Lord Derby, Wilmot--"
"I cannot tell, I heard no names," said Rose, "only that the enemy's
cruelties are worse than ever."
Walter stood with his back against the table, gazing at his brother
and sister in mute consternation.
"I know!" cried Rose, suddenly: "the out-house in the upper field.
No one ever goes up into the loft but ourselves. You know, Walter,
where Eleanor found the kittens. Go thither, I will bring Edmund
food at night. Oh, consent, Edmund!"
"It will do! it will do!" cried Walter.
"Very well, it may spare my mother," said Edmund; and as footsteps
and voices were heard on the stairs, the two brothers hurried off
without another word, while Rose, trying to conceal her agitation,
undid the door, and admitted her two little sisters, who were asking
if they had not heard Walter's voice.
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