"Father!" she murmured noiselessly, for she thought of that picture she had seen in the fire.
The officer of the Guard was carelessly looking at some papers in his hand, turning one over the other, as if searching for one in particular. Never had she gazed as she was gazing now, her breath coming and going in gasps.
"Why are you breathing in that way, my dear?" the sick woman asked, looking at the girl at the window.
"Was I breathing differently than usual, mother?" Margaret asked, turning for a moment, careful to hide the look of dread, and with a forced smile for her mother's sake. "Perhaps I was!" she added lightly. "Ha! there's Targon, the butcher. I must go down and give him an order for to-morrow's dinner."
She moved to the bedside, and, bending over to give her mother a kiss, she hurried down the stairs.
What did it mean? For when the Captain of the Guard had found the paper he wanted, and had thrust the others back into his belt, he moved straight to her father's door, as if to enter the shop. As she descended the steps of the staircase at a dangerous speed her mind was as quick as her feet. Startling visions of possibilities rose before her. It was that horrible picture again which she had seen in the fire. There was more in it now than before. There was the stake, with its flames fanned by the breeze, and her father chained in the midst of them all. There was that wheel of torture on which he was to be broken. There was the dark cell, with its slime, and horrors, and blackness, all made more intolerable because there would be no more glimpse of the daylight for him, if they did not decide to burn him. Or there might be no death, but the galley to which her father would be chained, with his back bared to the sun and wind, while the whip of the galley captain would come down on the flesh, and leave its streaks of blood.
It was there in those few moments.
She stood in the doorway of the parlour, in the shadow, from whence she could see what was passing in the shop.
The Captain of the Guard was there, and the paper was in his hand.
"Master Byrckmann," she heard the soldier say, with a disconcerting lack of cordiality, "the Burgomaster bade me bring you this."