CHAPTER III
I
"There will be a company of us to-night," said Mr. John to the twopriests, as he helped them to dismount. "Mr. Alban has sent his manforward from Derby to say that he will be here before night."
"Mr. Ludlam and I are together for once," said Mr. Garlick. "We mustseparate again to-morrow, he is for the north again, he tells me. Therehas been no more trouble?"
"Not a word of it. They were beaten last time and will not try again, Ithink, for the present. You heard of the attempt at Candlemas, then?"
* * * * *
It had been a quiet time enough ever since Lent, throughout the wholecounty; and it seemed as if the heat of the assault had cooled for wantof success. Plainly a great deal had been staked upon the attack onPadley, which, for its remoteness from towns, was known to be ameeting-place where priests could always find harbourage. And, indeed,it was time that the Catholics should have a little breathing space.Things had been very bad with them--the arrest of Mr. Simpson, and,still more, his weakness (though he had not as yet actually fulfilledhis promise of going to church, and was still detained in gaol); thegrowing lukewarmness of families that seldom saw a priest; the blowsstruck at the FitzHerbert family; and, above all, the defection of Mr.Thomas--all these things had brought the hearts of the faithful verylow. Mr. John himself had had an untroubled time since his return alittle before Easter; but he had taken the precaution not to remain toolong at Padley at one time; he had visited his other estates atSwynnerton and elsewhere, and had even been back again at Langley. Butthere had been no hint of any pursuit. Padley had remained untouched;the men went about their farm business; the housekeeper peered from herwindows, without a glimpse of armed men such as had terrified thehousehold on Candlemas day.
It was only last night, indeed, that the master had returned, in time tomeet the two priests who had asked for shelter for a day or two. Theyhad stayed here before continually, as well as at Booth's Edge, duringtheir travels, both in the master's absence and when he was at home.There were a couple of rooms kept vacant always for "men of God"; andall priests who came were instructed, of course (in case of necessity),as to the hiding-holes that Mr. Owen had contrived a few years before.Never, however, had there been any use made of them.
* * * * *
It was a hot July afternoon when the two priests were met to-day by Mr.John outside the arched gate that ran between the hall and the buttery.They had already dined at a farm a few miles down the valley, but theywere taken round the house at once to the walled garden, where drink andfood were set out. Here their dusty boots were pulled off; they laidaside their hats, and were presently at their ease again.
They were plain men, these two; though Mr. Garlick had been educated atOxford, and, before his going to Rheims, had been schoolmaster atTideswell. In appearance he was a breezy sunburnt man, with very littleof the clerk about him, and devoted to outdoor sports (which wassomething of a disguise to him since he could talk hawking and ridingin mixed company with a real knowledge of the facts). He spoke in a loudvoice with a strong Derbyshire accent, which he had never lost and nowdeliberately used. Mr. Ludlam looked far more of the priest: he was aclean-shaven man, of middle-age, with hair turning to grey on histemples, and with a very pleasant disarming smile; he spoke very little,but listened with an interested and attentive air. Both were, of course,dressed in the usual riding costume of gentlemen, and used good horses.
It was exceedingly good to sit here, with the breeze from over the moorscoming down on them, with cool drink before them, and the prospect of asecure day, at any rate, in this stronghold. Their host, too, wascontented and serene, and said so, frankly.
"I am more at peace, gentlemen," he said, "than I have been for the pastfive years. My son is in gaol yet; and I am proud that he should bethere, since my eldest son--" (he broke off a moment). "And I think theworst of the storm is over. Her Grace is busying herself with othermatters."
"You mean the Spanish fleet, sir?" said Mr. Garlick.
He nodded.
"It is not that I look for final deliverance from Spain," he said. "Ihave no wish to be aught but an Englishman, as I said to Mr. Bassett awhile ago. But I think the fleet will distract her Grace for a while;and it may very well mean that we have better treatment hereafter."
"What news is there, sir?"
"I hear that the Londoners buzz continually with false alarms. It wasthought that the fleet might arrive on any day; but I understand thatthe fishing-boats say that nothing as yet been seen. By the end of themonth, I daresay, we shall have news."
So they talked pleasantly in the shade till the shadows began tolengthen. They were far enough here from the sea-coast to feel somewhatdetached from the excitement that was beginning to seethe in the south.At Plymouth, it was said, all had been in readiness for a month or twopast; at Tilbury, my lord Leicester was steadily gathering troops. Buthere, inland, it was more of an academic question. The little happeningsin Derby; the changes of weather in the farms; the deaths of old peoplefrom the summer heats--these things were far more vital and significantthan the distant thunders of Spain. A beacon or two had been piled onthe hills, by order of the authorities, to pass on the news when itshould come; a few lads had disappeared from the countryside to drill inDerby marketplace; but except for these things, all was very much as ithad been from the beginning. The expected catastrophe meant little moreto such folk than the coming of the Judgment Day--certain, butinfinitely remote from the grasp of the imagination.
* * * * *
The three were talking of Robin as they came down towards the house forsupper, and, as they turned the corner, he himself was at that momentdismounting.
He looked surprisingly cool and well-trimmed, considering his ride upthe hot valley. He had taken his journey easily, he said, as he had hada long day yesterday.
"And I made a round to pay a visit to Mistress Manners," he said. "Ifound her a-bed when I got there; and Mrs. Alice says she will not be atmass to-morrow. She stood too long in the sun yesterday, at the carryingof the hay; it is no more than that."
"Mistress Manners is a marvel to me," said Garlick, as they went towardsthe house. "Neither wife nor nun. And she rules her house like a man;and she knows if a priest lift his little finger in Derby. She sent memy whole itinerary for this last circuit of mine; and every point fellout as she said."
* * * * *
Robin thought that he had seldom had so pleasant a supper as on thatnight. The windows of the low hall where he had dined so often as a boy,were flung wide to catch the scented evening air. The sun was round tothe west and threw long, golden rays, that were all lovely light and noheat, slantways on the paved floor and the polished tables and thebright pewter. Down at the lower end sat the servants, brown men, burnedby the sun; lean as panthers, scarcely speaking, ravenous after theirlong day in the hayfields; and up here three companions with whom he waswholly at his ease. The evening was as still as night, except for thefaint peaceful country sounds that came up from the valley below--thesong of a lad riding home; the barking of a dog; the bleat of sheep--allminute and delicate, as unperceived, yet as effective, as a rich fabricon which a design is woven. It seemed to him as he listened to thetalk--the brisk, shrewd remarks of Mr. Garlick; the courteous and rathermelancholy answers of his host; as he watched the second priest's eyeslooking gently and pleasantly about him; as he ate the plain, good foodand drank the country drink, that, in spite of all, his lot was cast invery sweet places. There was not a hint here of disturbance, or of men'spassions, or of ugly strife: there was no clatter, as in the streets ofDerby, or pressure of humanity, or wearying politics of themarket-place. He found himself in one of those moods that visit all mensometimes, when the world appears, after all, a homely and a genialplace; when the simplest things are the best; when no excitement orambition or furious zeal can compare with the gentle happiness of atired body t
hat is in the act of refreshment, or of a driven mind thatis finding its relaxation. At least, he said to himself, he would enjoythis night and the next day and the night after, with all his heart.
* * * * *
The four found themselves so much at ease here, that the dessert wasbrought in to them where they sat; and it was then that the firstunhappy word was spoken.
"Mr. Simpson!" said Garlick suddenly. "Is there any more news of him?"
Mr. John shook his head.
"He hath not yet been to church, thank God!" he said. "So much I knowfor certain. But he hath promised to go."
"Why is he not yet gone? He promised a great while ago."
"I hear he hath been sick. Derby gaol is a pestiferous place. They arewaiting, I suppose, till he is well enough to go publicly, that all theworld may be advertised of it!"
Mr. Garlick gave a bursting sigh.
"I cannot understand it at all," he said. "There has never been sozealous a priest. I have ridden with him again and again before I was apriest. He was always quiet; but I took him to be one of thosestout-hearted souls that need never brag. Why, it was here that we heardhim tell of Mr. Nelson's death!"
Mr. John threw out his hands.
"These prisons are devilish," he said; "they wear a man out as the rackcan never do. Why, see my son!" he cried. "Oh! I can speak of him if Iam but moved enough! It was that same Derby gaol that wore him out too!It is the darkness, and the ill food, and the stenches and the misery. Aman's heart fails him there, who could face a thousand deaths in thesunlight. Man after man hath fallen there--both in Derby, and in Londonand in all the prisons. It is their heart that goes--all the courageruns from them like water, with their health. If it were the rack andthe rope only, England would be Catholic, yet, I think."
The old man's face blazed with indignation; it was not often that he sospoke out his mind. It was very easy to see that he had thoughtcontinually of his son's fall.
"Mistress Manners hath told me the very same thing," said Robin. "Shevisited Mr. Thomas in gaol once at least. She said that her heart failedher altogether there."
Mr. Ludlam smiled.
"I suppose it is so," he said gently, "since you say so. But I think itwould not be so with me. The rack and the rope, rather, are what wouldshake me to the roots, unless God His Grace prevailed more than it everyet hath with see."
He smiled again.
Robin shook his head sharply.
"As for me--!" he said grimly, with tight lips.
* * * * *
It was a lovely night of stars as the four stepped out of the archwaybefore going upstairs to the parlour. Behind them stood the square andsolid house, resembling a very fortress. The lights that had beenbrought in still shone through the windows, and a hundred night insectsleapt and poised in the brightness.
And before them lay the deep valley--silent now except for the trickleof the stream; dark (since the moon was not yet risen), except for onelight that burned far away in some farm-house on the other side; andthis light went out, like a closing eye, even as they looked. Butoverhead, where God dwelt, all heaven was alive. The huge arch resting,as it appeared, on the monstrous bases of the moors and hills standinground this place, like the mountains about Jerusalem, was one shimmeringvault of glory, as if it was there that the home of life had its place,and this earth beneath but a bedroom for mortals, or for those that weretoo weary to aspire or climb. The suggestion was enormously powerful.Here was this mortal earth that needed rest so cruelly--that must havedarkness to refresh its tired eyes, coolness to recuperate its passion,and silence, if ever its ears were to hear again. But there was radianceunending. All day a dome of rigid blue; all night a span of glitteringlights--the very home of a glory that knows no waste and that thereforeneeds no reviving: it was to that only, therefore, that a life must bechained which would not falter or fail in the unending tides and changesof the world....
A soft breeze sprang up among the tops of the chestnuts; and the soundwas as of the going of a great company that whispered for silence.
II
It was within an hour of dawn that the first mass was said next morningby Mr. Robert Alban.
The chapel was decked out as they seldom dared to deck it in those days;but the failure of the last attempt on this place, and the peace thathad followed, made them bold.
The carved chest of newly-cut oak was in its place, with a rich carpetof silk spread on its face; and, on the top, the three linen cloths asprescribed by the Ritual. Two silver candlesticks, that stood usually onthe high shelf over the hall-fire, and a silver crucifix of Flemishwork, taken from the hiding-place, were in a row on the back, with redand white flowers, between. Beneath the linen cloths a tiny flatelevation showed where the altar stone lay. The rest of the chapel, inits usual hangings, had only sweet herbs on the floor; with two or threelong seats carried up from the hall below. An extraordinary sweetnessand peace seemed in the place both to the senses and the soul of theyoung priest as he went up to the altar to vest. Confessions had beenheard last night; and, as he turned, in the absolute stillness of themorning, and saw, beneath those carved angels that still to-day leanfrom the beams of the roof, the whole little space already filled withfarm-lads, many of whom were to approach the altar presently, and thegrey head of their master kneeling on the floor to answer the mass, itappeared to him as if the promise of last night were reversed, and thatit was, after all, earth rather than heaven that proclaimed the peaceand the glory of God....
* * * * *
Robin served the second mass himself, said by Mr. Garlick, and made histhanksgiving as well as he could meanwhile; but he found what appearedto him at the time many distractions, in watching the tanned face andhands of the man who was so utterly a countryman for nine-tenths of hislife, and so utterly a priest for the rest. His very sturdiness andbreeziness made his reverence the more evident and pathetic: he read themass rapidly, in a low voice, harshened by shouting in the open air overhis sports, made his gestures abruptly, and yet did the whole with anextraordinary attention. After the communion, when he turned for thewine and water, his face, as so often with rude folk in a great emotion,browned as it was with wind and sun, seemed lighted from within; heseemed etherealized, yet with his virility all alive in him. A phrase,wholly inapplicable in its first sense, came irresistibly to the youngerpriest's mind as he waited on him. "When the strong man, armed, keepethhis house, his goods are in peace."
Robin heard the third mass, said by Mr. Ludlam, from a corner near thedoor; and this one, too, was a fresh experience. The former priest hadresembled a strong man subdued by grace; the second, a weak man ennobledby it. Mr. Ludlam was a delicate soul, smiling often, as has been said,and speaking little--"a mild man," said the countryfolk. Yet, at thealtar there was no weakness in him; he was as a keen, sharp blade,fitted as a heavy knife cannot be, for fine and peculiar work. Hisfather had been a yeoman, as had the other's; yet there must have beensome unusual strain of blood in him, so deft and gentle he was--more athis ease here at God's Table than at the table of any man.... So he,too, finished his mass, and began to unvest....
Then, with a noise as brutal as a blasphemy, there came a thunder offootsteps on the stairs; and a man burst into the room, with glaringeyes and rough gestures.
"There is a company of men coming up from the valley," he cried; "andanother over the moor.... And it is my lord Shrewsbury's livery."
III
In an instant all was in confusion; and the peace had fled. Mr. John wasgone; and his voice could be heard on the open stairs outside speakingrapidly in sharp, low whispers to the men gathered beneath; and,meanwhile, three or four servants, two men and a couple of maids,previously drilled in their duties, were at the altar, on which Mr.Ludlam had but that moment laid down his amice. The three priests stoodtogether waiting, fearing to hinder or to add to the bustle. A lowwailing rose from outside the door; and Robin looked from it to see
ifthere were anything he could do. But it was only a little countryservant crouching on the tiny landing that united the two sets of stairsfrom the court, with her apron over her head: she must have been in thepartitioned west end of the chapel to hear the mass. He said a word toher; and the next instant was pushed aside, as a man tore by bearing agreat bundle of stuffs--vestments and the altar cloths. When he turnedagain, the chapel was become a common room once more: the chest stoodbare, with a great bowl of flowers on it; the candlesticks were gone;and the maid was sweeping up the herbs.
"Come, gentlemen," said a sharp voice at the door, "there is no time tolose."
He went out with the two others behind, and followed Mr. Johndownstairs. Already the party of servants was dispersed to theirstations; two or three to keep the doors, no doubt, and the rest back tokitchen work and the like, to give the impression that all was as usual.
The four went straight down into the hall, to find it empty, except forone man who stood by the fire-place. But a surprising change had takenplace here. Instead of the solemn panelling, with the carved shield thatcovered the wall over the hearth, there was a great doorway opened,through which showed, not the bricks of the chimney-breast, but a blackspace large enough to admit a man.
"See here," said Mr. John, "there is room for two here, but no more.There is room for a third in another little chamber upstairs that isnearly joined on to this: but it is not so good. Now, gentlemen--"
"This is the safer of the two?" asked Robin abruptly.
"I think it to be so. Make haste, gentlemen."
Robin wheeled on the others. He said that there was no time to argue in.
"See!" he said. "I have not yet been taken at all. Mr. Garlick hathbeen taken; and Mr. Ludlam hath had a warning. There is no question thatyou must be here."
"I utterly refuse--" began Garlick.
Robin went to the door in three strides; and was out of it. He closedthe door behind him and ran upstairs. As he reached the head his eyecaught a glint of sunlight on some metal far up on the moor beyond thebelt of trees. He did not turn his head again; he went straight in andwaited.
Presently he heard steps coming up, and Mr. John appeared smiling andout of breath.
"I have them in," he said, "by promising that there was no greatdifference after all; and that there was no time. Now, sir--" And hewent towards the wall at which, long ago, Mr. Owen had worked so hard.
"And yourself, sir?" asked Robin, as once more an innocent piece ofpanelling moved outwards under Mr. John's hand.
"I'll see to that; but not until you are in--"
"But--"
The old man's face blazed suddenly up.
"Obey me, if you please. I am the master here. I tell you I have a verygood place."
There was no more to be said. Robin advanced to the opening, and satdown to slide himself in. It was a little door about two feet square,with a hole beneath it.
"Drop gently, Mr. Alban," whispered the voice in his ear. "The altarvessels are at the bottom, with the crucifix, on some soft stuff....That is it. Slide in and let yourself slip. There is some food and drinkthere, too."
Robin did so. The floor of the little chamber was about five feet down,and he could feel woodwork on all three sides of him.
"When the door is closed," said the voice from the daylight, "push apair of bolts on right and left till they go home. Tap upon the shutterwhen it is done."
The light vanished, and Robin was aware of a faint smell of smoke. Thenhe remembered that he had noticed a newly lit fire on the hearth of thehall.... He found the bolts, pushed them, and tapped lightly threetimes. He heard a hand push on the shutter to see that all was secure,and then footsteps go away over the floor on a level with his chin.
Then he remembered that he must be in the same chamber with his twofellow-priests, separated from them by the flooring on which he stood.He rapped gently with his foot twice. Two soft taps came back. Silencefollowed.
IV
Time, as once before in his experience, seemed wholly banished from thisplace. There were moments of reflection when he appeared to himself ashaving but just entered; there were other moments when he might havebeen here for an eternity that had no divisions to mark it. He was incomplete and utter darkness. There was not a crack anywhere in thewoodwork (so perfect had been the young carpenter's handiwork) by whicheven a glimmer of light could enter. A while ago he had been in theearly morning sunlight; now he might be in the grave.
For a while his emotions and his thoughts raced one another, tumbling ininextricable confusion; and they were all emotions and thoughts of thepresent: intense little visions of the men closing round the house,cutting off escape from the valley on the one side and from the wildupland country on the other; questions as to where Mr. John would hidehimself; minute sensible impressions of the smoky flavour of the air,the unplaned woodwork, the soft stuffs beneath his feet. Then they beganto extend themselves wider, all with that rapid unjarring swiftness: heforesaw the bursting in of his stronghold; the footsteps within threeinches of his head; the crash as the board was kicked in: then thecapture; the ride to Derby, bound on a horse; the gaol; the questioning;the faces of my lord Shrewsbury and the magistrates ... and the end....
There were moments when the sweat ran down his face, when he bit hislips in agony, and nearly moaned aloud. There were others in which heabandoned himself to Christ crucified; placed himself in EverlastingHands that were mighty enough to pluck him not only out of this snare,but from the very hands that would hold him so soon; Hands that couldlift him from the rack and scaffold and set him a free man among hishills again: yet that had not done so with a score of others whom heknew. He thought of these, and of the girl who had done so much to savethem all, who was now saved herself by sickness, a mile or two away,from these hideous straits. Then he dragged out Mr. Maine's beads andbegan to recite the "Mysteries."...
* * * * *
There broke in suddenly the first exterior sign that the hunters were onthem--a muffled hammering far beneath his feet. There were pauses; thenvoices carried up from the archway nearly beneath through the hollowedwalls; then hammering again; but all was heard as through wool.
As the first noise broke out his mind rearranged itself and seemed tohave two consciousnesses. In the foreground he followed, intently andeagerly, every movement below; in the background, there still movedbefore him the pageant of deeper thoughts and more remote--of prayer andwonder and fear and expectation; and from that onwards it continued sowith him. Even while he followed the sounds, he understood why my lordShrewsbury had made this assault so suddenly, after months of peace....He perceived the hand of Thomas FitzHerbert, too, in the precision withwhich the attack had been made, and the certain information he must havegiven that priests would be in Padley that morning.
There were noises that he could not interpret--vague tramplings from adirection which he could not tell; voices that shouted; the sound ofmetal on stone.
He did interpret rightly, however, the sudden tumult as the gate wasunbarred at last, and the shrill screaming of a woman as the companypoured through into the house; the clamour of voices from beneath as thehall below was filled with men; the battering that began almostimmediately; and, finally, the rush of shod feet up the outsidestaircases, one of which led straight into the chapel itself. Then,indeed, his heart seemed to spring upwards into his throat, and to beatthere, as loud as knocking, so loud that it appeared to him that all thehouse must hear it.
* * * * *
Yet it was still some minutes before the climax came to him. He wasstill standing there, listening to voices talking, it seemed, almost inhis ears, yet whose words he could not hear; the vibration of feet thatshook the solid joist against which he had leaned his head, with closedeyes; the brush of a cloak once, like a whisper, against the very panelthat shut him in. He could attend to nothing else; the rest of the dramawas as nothing to him: he had his business in hand--to keep away fromhimsel
f, by the very intentness of his will and determination, the feetthat passed so close.
The climax came in a sudden thump of a pike foot within a yard of hishead, so imminent, that for an instant he thought it was at his ownpanel. There followed a splintering sound of a pike-head in the sameplace. He understood. They were sounding on the woodwork and piercingall that rang hollow.... His turn, then, would come immediately.
Talking voices followed the crash; then silence; then the vibration offeet once more. The strain grew unbearable; his fingers twisted tight inhis rosary, lifted themselves once or twice from the floor edge on whichthey were gripped, to tear back the bolts and declare himself. It seemedto him in those instants a thousand times better to come out of his ownwill, rather than to be poked and dragged from his hole like a badger.In the very midst of such imaginings there came a thumping blow withinthree inches of his face, and then silence. He leaned back desperatelyto avoid the pike-thrust that must follow, with his eyes screwed tightand his lips mumbling. He waited;... and then, as he waited, he drew anirrepressible hissing breath of terror, for beneath the soft paddingunder his feet he could feel movements; blow follow blow, from the samedirection, and last a great clamour of voices all shouting together.
Feet ran across the floor on which his hands were gripped again, anddown the stairs. He perceived two things: the chapel was empty again,and the priests below had been found.
V
He could follow every step of the drama after that, for he appeared tohimself now as a mere witness, without personal part in it.
First, there were voices below him, so clear and close that he coulddistinguish the intonation, and who it was that spoke, though the wordswere inaudible.
It was Mr. Garlick who first spoke--a sentence of a dozen words, itmight be, consenting, no doubt, to come out without being dragged;congratulating, perhaps (as the manner was), the searchers on theirsuccess. A murmur of answer came back, and then one sharp, peevish voiceby itself. Again Mr. Garlick spoke, and there followed the shuffling ofmovements for a long while; and then, so far as the little chamber wasconcerned, empty silence. But from the hall rose up a steady murmur oftalk once more....
Again Robin's heart leaped in him, for there came the rattle of apike-end immediately below his feet. They were searching the littlechamber beneath, from the level of the hall, to see if it were empty.The pike was presently withdrawn.
For a long while the talking went on. So far as the rest of the housewas concerned, the hidden man could tell nothing, or whether Mr. Johnwere taken, or whether the search were given up. He could not even fixhis mind on the point; he was constructing for himself, furiously andintently, the scene he imagined in the hall below; he thought he saw thetwo priests barred in behind the high table; my lord Shrewsbury in theone great chair in the midst of the room; Mr. Columbell, perhaps, or Mr.John Manners talking in his ear; the men on guard over the, priests andbeside the door; and another, maybe, standing by the hearth.
He was so intent on this that he thought of little else; though still,on a strange background of another consciousness, moved scenes and ideassuch as he had had at the beginning. And he was torn from thiscontemplation with the suddenness of a blow, by a voice speaking, itseemed, within a foot of his head.
"Well, we have those rats, at any rate."
(He perceived instantly what had happened. The men were back again inthe chapel, and he had not heard them come. He supposed that he couldhear the words now, because of the breaking of the panel next to hisown.)
"Ralph said he was sure of the other one, too," said a second voice.
"Which was that one?"
"The fellow that was at Fotheringay."
(Robin clenched his teeth like iron.)
"Well, he is not here."
There was silence.
"I have sounded that side," said the first voice sharply.
"Well, but--"
"I tell you I have sounded it. There is no time to be lost. My lord--"
"Hark!" said the second voice. "There is my lord's man--"
There followed a movement of feet towards the door, as it seemed to thepriest.
He could hear the first man grumbling to himself, and beating listlesslyon the walls somewhere. Then a voice called something unintelligiblefrom the direction of the stairs; the beating ceased, and footsteps wentacross the floor again into silence.
VI
He was dazed and blinded by the light when, after infinite hours, hedrew the bolts and slid the panel open.
* * * * *
He had lost all idea of time utterly: he did not know whether he shouldfind that night had come, or that the next day had dawned. He had waitedthere, period after period; he marked one of them by eating food thathad no taste and drinking liquid that stung his throat but did notaffect his palate; he had marked another by saying compline to himselfin a whisper.
During the earlier part of those periods he had followed--he thoughtwith success--the dreadful drama that was acted in the house. Someonehad made a formal inspection of all the chambers--a man who said littleand moved heavily with something of a limp (he had thought this to be mylord Shrewsbury himself, who suffered from the gout): this man hadwalked slowly through the chapel and out again.
At a later period he had heard the horses being brought round the house;heard plainly the jingle of the bits and a sneeze or two. This had beenfollowed by long interminable talking, muffled and indistinguishable,that came up to him from some unknown direction. Voices changedcuriously in loudness and articulation as the speakers moved about.
At a later period a loud trampling had begun again, plainly from thehall: he had interpreted this to mean that the prisoners were beingremoved out of doors; and he had been confirmed in this by hearingimmediately afterwards again the stamping of horses and the creaking ofleather.
Again there had been a pause, broken suddenly by loud women's wailing.And at last the noise of horses moving off; the noise grew less; a manran suddenly through the archway and out again, and, little by little,complete silence once more.
Yet he had not dared to move. It was the custom, he knew, sometimes toleave three or four men on guard for a day or two after such an assault,in the hope of starving out any hidden fugitives that might still beleft. So he waited again--period after period; he dozed a little forweariness, propped against the narrow walls of his hidinghole; woke;felt again for food and found he had eaten it all ... dozed again.
Then he had started up suddenly, for without any further warning therehad come a tiny indeterminate tapping against his panel. He held hisbreath and listened. It came again. Then fearlessly he drew back thebolts, slid the panel open and shut his eyes, dazzled by the light.
He crawled out at last, spent and dusty. There was looking at him onlythe little red-eyed maid whom he had tried to comfort at some far-offhour in his life. Her face was all contorted with weeping, and she had agreat smear of dust across it.
"What time is it?" he said.
"It ... it is after two o'clock," she whispered.
"They have all gone?"
She nodded, speechless.
"Whom have they taken?"
"Mr. FitzHerbert ... the priests ... the servants."
"Mr. FitzHerbert? They found him, then?"
She stared at him with the dull incapacity to understand why he did notknow all that she had seen.
"Where did they find him?" he repeated sharply.
"The master ... he opened the door to them himself."
Her face writhed itself again into grotesque lines, and she broke outinto shrill wailing and weeping.