'Begging pardon, sir,' said John, 'I knew you sat up late, and made bold
to come round, having a word to say to you.'
'Willet--is it not?'
'Of the Maypole--at your service, sir.'
Mr Haredale closed the window, and withdrew. He presently appeared at
a door in the bottom of the turret, and coming across the garden-walk,
unlocked the gate and let them in.
'You are a late visitor, Willet. What is the matter?'
'Nothing to speak of, sir,' said John; 'an idle tale, I thought you
ought to know of; nothing more.'
'Let your man go forward with the lantern, and give me your hand. The
stairs are crooked and narrow. Gently with your light, friend. You swing
it like a censer.'
Hugh, who had already reached the turret, held it more steadily, and
ascended first, turning round from time to time to shed his light
downward on the steps. Mr Haredale following next, eyed his lowering
face with no great favour; and Hugh, looking down on him, returned his
glances with interest, as they climbed the winding stairs.
It terminated in a little ante-room adjoining that from which they had
seen the light. Mr Haredale entered first, and led the way through it
into the latter chamber, where he seated himself at a writing-table from
which he had risen when they had rung the bell.
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