They reached the doorway almost fainting with fatigue and fright.
A man in armour strode forth to meet them, lance in hand!
More than one fainted on the spot.
Roger, the footman, like a brave man, trusted to his legs once more, followed by as many of his fellow servants as had any strength left in them; he vanished up the great staircase at lightning speed.
It seemed to be a race for life or death with all of them.
Round and round the staircase they manfully ascended, never casting a single look behind.
They had gained the long, wide corridor which led to Sir Richard’s library, and all felt safe.
Roger, as may be imagined, was first, and opened the door.
His foot caught in the carpet on the threshold, and down he went on his face, swelling his nose to the size of a cucumber.
The others, in wild confusion, rushed after him and tumbled, men and women, head over heels on the prostrate footman, nearly smothering him with their combined weight.