"Silence, you good-for-naughts!" said a third voice sternly. "If the work be not done by daybreak, there will be a heavy reckoning for somebody."
And again the steady hammering and sawing went forward. The head still passed and repassed, its owner walking apparently upon some platform which they had constructed beneath their window, but never giving a glance or a thought to the black square opening beside him. It was early morning, and the first cold light was beginning to steal over the courtyard, before the work was at last finished and the workmen had left. Then at last the prisoners dared to climb up and to see what it was which had been constructed during the night. It gave them a catch of the breath as they looked at it. It was a scaffold.
There it lay, the ill-omened platform of dark greasy boards newly fastened together, but evidently used often before for the same purpose. It was buttressed up against their wall, and extended a clear twenty feet out, with a broad wooden stair leading down from the further side. In the centre stood a headsman's block, all haggled at the top, and smeared with rust-coloured stains.
"I think it is time that we left," said Amos Green.
"Our work is all in vain, Amos," said De Catinat sadly.
"Whatever our fate may be—and this looks ill enough—we can but submit to it like brave men."
"Tut, man; the window is clear! Let us make a rush for it."
"It is useless. I can see a line of armed men along the further side of the yard."
"A line! At this hour!"
"Yes; and here come more. See, at the centre gate! Now what in the name of heaven is this?"