"Hush!" he said gently, thinking me, I suppose, as indeed I was, at the point of calling aloud on the guard. "I am unarmed, and would not hurt you if I could. What is your name?" And his voice, for all that it was young and sweet, sounded like my father's, for which there was reason enough, as I was soon to know.  
"My name is Drayton," I answered simply.
 
"And the other?" he asked.
 
"Phil—Philip," I answered; and then I leapt to my feet as one waking from a dream, saying, as I did so, "though, sooth, I know not why I tell you." With my moving he so changed his position that the glow of the fire fell upon his face, and I knew him for the priest that had been taken in the orchard.
 
"Nor I," he said sternly, "for it is false. I am Philip Drayton."
 
"What, what!" I cried, in much amazement. "And is Sir Michael your father?"
 
"Sir Michael is my father," he replied.
 
"And mine also," said I, very joyfully, with yet no thought of the terrible meaning of his presence. "I took but little from my name. Lay the falsehood on my clothes. Brother Philip, I am Philippa."
 
He seemed less pleased with the encounter than dismayed by my attire.
 
"My sister!" he said; "my sister in this guise!"
 
"Nay, trust me," I said merrily, "none knows me for a maid."
 
And then he seemed to remember something, and, laying both hands on my shoulders, he held me off from him so that the light of the fire fell upon my face.
 
"My little sister!" said he. "I saw you, then, in the orchard. And was it you that saved the life of the Stadtholder of Holland?"
 
"So they say," I replied, doubtfully, wondering at the joy I saw upon his countenance.
 
"I am glad of it," he said, "right glad of it, indeed." And with that he heaved a great sigh of relief.
 
"Glad!" I cried. "Glad, you say! How can that be, when you yourself were one of those that would have slain him?"
 
"With them indeed I was," he said; "but I had no part in the planning that foul plot, and took none in its attempted execution. Had I even known the wickedness that was toward, I would not have obeyed what I deemed of all earthly commands the most terrible. By the happiest stroke of chance they did move my lodging to the chamber where is the sliding panel that gives upon the stair by which I have now reached you. Old Mr. Nathaniel Royston did show it me when I was but a little lad and you unborn. But he brought me no further than this chamber. I do remember," my brother continued, with a note in his voice that seemed to mark the man's sadness to recall a merry childhood, "I do remember that he said, with his kindly chuckle, he must not show the rest of the secret to one that like enough would some day prove a Jesuit in disguise. Though he spoke in jest, he was a good prophet. And now, child," he said, with rapid change to a manner more urgent, "you must show me what he would not."
 
"If you mean the secret way from the house," said I, "I do not know it; nor I would not show it if I did. I am here on guard duty till Captain Royston return."
 
"Sister," said Philip, speaking with voice and words so solemn that heart and ear were enchained till he came to an end,—"Sister, King James and his cause are dear to me. Holy Mother Church and her cause are yet more dear. But dearest of all (God forgive me!), dearest of all to me now, little sister Phil, is our dear father's honor and the honor of his house. It is no shame to him or to the Drayton name that I should work or fight for King James; none if I should spend my life to bring the dear land back to the true faith. But what one of us will hold up his head again if the name must be made foul, and stink in the nostrils of men, for a base plot of treachery and assassination? Therefore, child of my father, for the name's sake, let me go."
 
With that he made to pass me and reach the door into the gallery, but I stepped between and took him by the arms.
 
"Do not move," I said; "not one step, lest I call on the guard." And he stood like a statue of stone, while for a few moments, stretched by the gravity and tension of my thought into the seeming of hours, I was silent, and then: "Philip," I said, "if you are innocent of this wicked thing, why are you in England?" And in a few words he told me of the mission on which he was come. Then said I: "Will you now give it up—this mission—and return at once into France, if I let you go?" And, seeing that he shook his head, "Come," I said; "be quick. It is that or naught. Swear it, and you may go for me. The Captain will be upon us soon, and then it will be too late."
 
"Yes," he answered.
 
"It is an oath—a Drayton's oath?" I asked. "It is," said Philip.
 
"Then go, in God's name!" I cried. "Though, faith, I know not the secret passage, and I do not see how otherwise you should pass all the guards."
 
"I can but try," he answered; and again would have moved to the door, but in that moment I heard a footfall; and, being more sure from whom it came than whence, I bade Philip keep still, and ran as light as my heavy boots would allow to the door, drew it a little back, and peered into the passage. Mightily eased in mind by what I saw, which was little enough, being but the back of the sentry disappearing round the corner of the gallery, I softly pushed-to the door, whispering ere I turned: "Quick! quick! Go now. 'T is your one chance. Thank God it was not Captain Royston; and the sentry is for the moment out of hearing."
 
And uttering the last words I turned to find myself face to face with the man for whose absence I had just given thanks to God. He was looking at me over the table where he had just set down his candlestick beside the meat and wine he had fetched for me. And of all the terrible things of that night, none, I think, did send to my heart a pang so sharp as the sight of that flagon of wine and wooden platter of cold venison; verily, for a moment I felt, with his reproachful eye upon me, that I was indeed that base thing he could not choose but think me.
 
"Thank Him not too soon, thou devil's whelp!" he said.
 
Philip yet stood where I had left him. To him I went quickly and whispered: "Go, while you may. I will engage him. He will not hurt me, for, if needs must, I will tell him who I am." Then, going over to Captain Royston with strut and swagger much belying the trembling that was within me: "Sir," I said, laying hand to my sword, "you give me an ill name."
 
"Less ill than your deeds," he answered with great bitterness. "I went but to get you meat and drink, and, returning, thought of that secret way from the room above. I stepped over the sleeping sentry, unbolted the door and closed it softly behind me, only to find the bird flown. As I drew back the panel he had closed behind him and followed him down the stair, greatly fearing some mischance from his evasion, naught I imagined was so bad as the finding you together planning his escape. Was it for this I did cherish you, little viper?"
 
To all which, though his words did cut me to the heart, I but replied that I was no reptile, and that therefore he lied, hoping by such naughty words to provoke him to quarrel with me, while Philip was about escaping, purposing thereafter to tell him the truth, when that was accomplished for which I would not have him even in his own conscience held responsible. Me they could not very heavily punish, since from His Highness of Orange I took no pay, nor had sworn to him any oath. Nor was I altogether hopeless of persuading Ned to conceal his knowledge of what it would then be too late to prevent.
 
"Let me pass, boy," he cried, "or I will whip you soundly with my belt." But when he would have put me aside, as I stood between them, I held him fast to the utmost of my strength. Finding I would still cling to him, he put his hand to the buckle of his belt.
 
"Whip, then," I said, "for the man shall go free." And, though my flesh did most prophetically shudder beneath the imminent stripes, I thought that here was no bad way of gaining time for Philip, when I should come to weep, in Philippa's proper person, for the pain of that whipping. But he flung me off, muttering a plague on the Drayton countenance of me, and that the priest would make off if he did not seize him.
 
"He shall!" I cried, half drawing my sword. "What! Art afraid to draw on a lesser than thy hulking self?"
 
"False and ingrate though you are, I would not hurt you," he said; "and I will not call upon the guard; but I will have him again secure in his chamber, and so shield you, little devil, from all punishment but what I will myself administer when all is done."
 
And as he advanced upon me and would have seized me, I lifted my cloak that was on the back of the settle and flung it over his head, where, for a brief space, despite his struggles, I held it. And while his eyes were thus blinded for a moment, Philip, swift and silent, slipped past us and through the door of the stair to the Prince's chamber. Royston, however, soon flung me off and tore the cloak from his head. And I saw at length great anger in his face, and with a last essay at strategy did leap to the door that gives upon the gallery, as if indeed I defended Philip's retreat; and there, with drawn sword and taunting words, I defied him. And then he came, and our swords met. And finding, as well I had known I should find, that he was too strong for me, I was, after a pass or two, at the point of calling him by the old name and of telling mine, when he did something that had formed no part of the teaching he had given me with the foils, so that I found myself speedily at his mercy, and felt the sharp, cold prick of steel low down upon my neck. And then I thought my end was indeed come, and I tried to murmur: "Spare me, dear Ned," but could not.
 
Now all these things—from Ned's return to my foolish fainting at the first blood—that have in the telling taken so long did happen so quickly that perhaps seconds rather than minutes were their proper measure. And my enemy has since told me that what I have called my swooning seemed but the closing for a few moments of my eyes. But, however that may be, I do think it endured sufficiently for his great concern. For when I opened them I knew not at all where I should be until the white solicitude of his face bending close over brought me very soon to the consciousness of the strong and tender arms that held me. So, seeing I was come to myself, he led me towards the hearth, and set me in a chair. And then I began to feel a little smarting and a warmth of trickling blood. Taking my handkerchief, I thrust it beneath waistcoat and shirt, and pressed it upon the spot that did so smart, whence withdrawing it and seeing the blood upon it, I shuddered.
 
"Nay, nay," said Ned, while the lines of anxiety upon his face belied the little laugh he forced from his lips, "fret not for a little blood. I thrust not hard. Wherefore did you anger me, monkey? Come," he added, laying his hand to the breast of my shirt and fingering the buttons with that awkwardness that a man has ever for garments that are not his, "I will heal it."
 
"No," I said, pulling away his hands, "you must not."
 
"But I would see the hurt, lad," he said. "I know not why, but I am sorry I have hurt you. God knows, I have killed men and thought little of it, but this scratch to a child does mightily vex me." And again he would have loosed the buttons. "Come, open your shirt," he said.
 
"I say I will not. I am not the lad you think me, sir."
 
But even then he did not understand, but took my two hands in one of his, so great and strong that mine might scarce writhe themselves about within it, while he set himself to do what I would not for all his asking. And so it was that I came to the last line of my defences. "Let be, dear Ned," I murmured, in that tone of pleading I had ever in the old days used when his will did offer to prove the stronger. "Let be, dear; 't is—'t is thy little maid, Phil," I said, and dropped my eyes before him, and let my prisoned hands lie still.
 
He stared upon me in an astonishment of wonder that discovered the white all round his eyes, and at first he would not believe.
 
"Nay, nay," he said, "it is not so!" And I lifted my eyes and so looked into his that he could no longer doubt.
 
"Verily, Ned, it is I. And I had told the sooner," I said, "but that—but that—" and, my words then failing, I again dropped my gaze before his.
 
"Phil!" he cried. "Is it even my little friend Phil? 'But,' you say—but what?"
 
"But that I would not tell you—and could not—was ashamed, Ned, and did mightily desire to know had you forgot me." And here, laying my folded handkerchief to my wound inside my shirt, and fastening all close above it, I did see his face so lose color at thought of the hurt he had given me, that I laid my hand upon his, saying: "Be not vexed, sweet Ned, 't is but a scratch."
 
"I am right glad of it, Phil," he answered, "if it be so. But indeed you should not run about in this guise. How came you to be so dressed?"
 
"That story must wait," I replied merrily. "But 't is the first time, Ned, and shall be the last."
 
"And if you must needs be a man," he went on, "but for a day, you should cleave like a man to one side, and not be so greedy of strife as to draw sword on both. There will be trouble over this priest when he is taken, as he will be, by the guard without."
 
"Listen, Ned," said I. "That priest is my brother."
 
"What!" he cried. "Surely it is not Philip!"
 
"Philip it is," said I, "and no other, though I did not know him until he told me even now in this room. And also he did tell me, Ned, that he had no part in the assault upon His Highness."
 
"So much," said Ned, "is true. I marked him."
 
"He told me, moreover," I continued, "that the business that brought him to England was fair and honest, though it was for King James. There was another priest did force or trick him into companying with the murderers. Ned, dear Ned, I did mean letting him go for our father's sake and our name." And here I found no power, and perhaps little will, to restrain the catch of a sob in my throat. "Men must not say 'spy,' 'plotmonger,' 'assassin,' when they say Drayton, Ned. You do forgive me?"
 
"Right gladly," he answered, and seemed to muse for a little. And then, "'T is well," he said, "that I did not wake the sentry that lay sleeping at his door."
 
"Why did you not?" I asked.
 
"Because," he replied, "though I thought all was safe, I would not have it known that I had left my post." With that he went softly to the door of the gallery and listened. "It is strange," he said, when he was come again to my side, "that I hear no sound of his capture. Yet he could not pass the sentry at the stair-head."
 
"He did not go that way," said I.
 
"But it was to defend that door," he retorted, "that you drew on me."
 
"Ay, dear Ned," I answered, "but that was to deceive you."
 
"But why, cunning one," he said, "did you not at once tell me all?"
 
"I feared you would be mighty stern," I answered; "also, I was loath to tell you who I was. Moreover, Ned, I did think it best for you to have neither knowledge nor share in his escape, if I might procure it without your aid. I was afraid for you."
 
"And yet not afraid of your life?" he asked.
 
"Nay, that too. But I thought," I replied ruefully, "that I had enough cunning of fence to keep you off for a while; for I did often use to hold my own with the foils against you. In extremity I was to cry: ''T is I, Ned! kill me not!' But you were so fierce and strong." Whereat he laughed a little, sheathing his own sword and handing me mine.
 
"These are not foils," he said. "But, if your brother went not by the gallery, where then? Is he returned to the chamber above?" And he pointed to the gaping mouth of the secret stair.
 
And right upon his words Philip entered the chamber from the Prince's stairway, and, closing the door behind him: "I am here, Royston," he said.
 
Royston heard, and, turning, grasped him by the hand. "Ah! so it was there you did hide, old friend," he said. "Faith, they did spoil a good man of his hands when they made you priest." And then I saw Ned's eyes travel to the door just closed; and he dropped Philip's hand, and his face blanched. "In the name of God!" he cried, "what did you up there? Say that you were not in the Prince's chamber!" And for the first time and the last I saw Edward Royston shaken by a passion of fear.
 
"It is from his chamber that I come," said Philip, speaking and bearing himself with great serenity.
 
Poor Ned caught his breath with a sound sharp and hissing. "Then, as there is a God above us," he whispered, "if any harm has happened, I will slay you and the maid your sister, though I do love her, only before I kill myself."
 
"Go," said the priest, pointing to the stair, "look on your Prince as he sleeps."
 
"Yes, I will go," replied Ned, flushing a little with hope born of Philip's calm. "But I will not leave you free."
 
I caught his great horseman's pistol from the table where Ned had laid it after escorting His Highness to his chamber.
 
"Go up, Ned," said I; and to Philip, as I pointed to a chair, "Sit there, brother." And to Ned again: "If he but rise from his chair before you return, I will shoot him, as surely as you shall kill me after him. Is it primed?" I asked, for the pistol was of the pattern then coming into use, discharged by means of a falling flint. And he, taking it from my hand, and raising the dog, and peering into the pan for the priming, I added: "But he will not move, for he has done no wrong."
 
He put the weapon in my hand. "You will not fail me?" he asked, with a countenance very awful to see. For answer I looked once in his face. He turned and went swiftly through the little door and up the stair.
 
Philip, as I think, knew it was no vain threat that I had made. But I, believing his conscience clean, had little doubt of a willing captive.
 
The time passed unbroken with a word; hours it could not be, but whether minutes or seconds I do not know. And somewhere in the heart of my confidence there throbbed a little pricking pain of doubt. For, brother as he was, to me the man was yet a stranger. What if he were of those with whom all means are held lawful to the cherished end? Had not I, but an ignorant girl, done for one end what I had held base indeed for another? And for answer I clung to the stock of my weapon, and swore he should die if His Highness had suffered. For not only Drayton, but Royston honor also lay in the hollow of my hand. But I swore, too, that I would not long survive him; and, if Ned would do it, even death would not be wholly without sweetness.
 
At last a step was on the stair, and my eyes went again to the little door. And, when I saw his returning face, I laughed aloud.
 
"You may well laugh, Mistress Philippa," he said, sheathing the sword that had not, I suppose, left his hand since it had leapt from the scabbard on his first doubt of Philip, "for I was indeed a fool to doubt him." Then, turning to Philip: "I did you wrong, Drayton," he said; "the blame must lie on the evil company we did find you in."
 
"I should myself, I fear, doubt any man in such case," answered Philip.
 
With that they fell to considering what should be done. Philip was at first for returning to his chamber above. But Ned had already taken his resolution. Sir Michael, he said, should not, in the sweet evening of a life of honor, see his house come to shame. "You cannot, I do suppose," he continued, "bring proof or witness of your innocence in the matter?"
 
"He that alone could clear me," replied my brother, "is escaped. Moreover, I do not think he bears me any good-will."
 
"Then you must go," declared Royston, in accents very positive.
 
And I could not find it in me, for all the risk to him, to say him nay. So without more ado Ned went to the hearth, where, by means I did not till long after understand, he very quickly closed the opening in the wall whence Philip had entered. He next caused to appear, on the opposite side of the............