spread. But Jeremy will feed his ladybird with his own hand
three times a day--nor shall his sister Aphra put so much as a pot
stick in the cooking, for fear of mistakes! She's a fine lass, Aphra,
when ye ken her, but little to trust to when she has a spite against
ye. Stick you by Jeremy, leddy, and he will stick by you!"

After he was gone, and the silence had re-established itself, listening
intently, I caught the sound of water flowing somewhere near, and
lifting up a little square of wood let into the stone floor in the
angle behind the couch, I saw black water creeping sullenly along
underneath my dungeon--probably the outlet of the Moat Pond on its way
to join the Brom Water. And I could not keep thinking of the fate of
those "others," who had not the doubtful but yet puissant protection of
Jeremy. The trapdoor was certainly large enough to take a man, and the
water, creeping ice-free down to the Moat Pond, would tell no tales.
As it was I tore one or two little notes sent me by Joe into the
smallest pieces, and watched them float away--that I might in no way
connect him with the miseries into which my foolish confidence had
brought me.

I was altogether alone. On the table Jeremy had put a candle with
matches. When he brought my evening meal of porridge, cooked in the
monks' bakery by himself, he asked if I wanted anything to read.

"I canna aye gie ye my company," he said. "What wi' the maister bein'
no well, I hae great stress o' business--but can ye read?"

I told him that I could, and awaited with some curiosity the books
which Mad Jeremy would bring me. His choice was better than I could
have expected. It comprised _Driver's Complete Farriery_, _The Heather
Lintie_, (poems), a book of sermons with the title _In Hoc Signo_--or
something like that--_Markham's Complete Housewife, Cavendish on
Whist_, and two huge volumes of _Pinkerton's Voyages_.

"I wad hae brocht ye a Bible, too, but Aphra micht hae noticed," he
said. "There's mair nor a packet o' candles in the press, forbye a
half loaf if ye are hungrysome i' the nicht-time. It's little likely
that ye will ken how to play the fiddle?"

I told him I had no such skill, at which he sighed.

"I was dootin' that," he said. "If ye had I could hae played the
seconds to ye fine! But Jeremy can play for twa when the fit is on
him. Ye never heard Jeremy. He has a fiddle that is a real--Jeremy
forgets the name--but it's real something awesome g