"The real guest-chambers I may not offer you," she sighed, as she poked up the logs that blazed on the rusty andirons; "seeing the rats have made such havoc in them, and 'tis many years since any one slept there. But the rats do not affect this chamber greatly, and the roof is sound; also my aunt's woman slept here and saw no ghosts.  And if need comes you should hide--which God forbid--you see this little stair in the corner?  It leads up to the great attic that is full of lumber, where you could play hide-and-seek with a regiment; and were you pressed there--see"--and she ran lightly up the stair and pushed open the door into the lumber-room.  "Look at those bedsteads and chests and the great loom.  They make a very rampart!  And if that were forced, the ceiling is all broken at that end, so 'twere easy to scramble up on the rafters and lie hid under the tiles.  There, surely no one would follow you; leastways, not our constables from hereabouts.  They are too lusty for such mountebank scrambles!  And now, sir, your fire burns bright, and I will wish you good night, and God keep you in safety."