Soon we were between lines of building once more, shops, private dwellings and warehouses intermix’d; then pass’d a tall church; and in about two minutes more drew up again. I look’d out.
Facing me was a narrow gateway leading to a house that stood somewhat back from the street, as if slipping away from between the lines of shops that wedg’d it in on either hand. Over the grill a link was burning. I stepp’d from the coach, open’d the gate, and crossing the small court, rang at the house bell.
At first there was no answer. I rang again: and now had the satisfaction to hear a light footfall coming. A bolt was pull’d and a girl appear’d holding a candle high in her hand. Quick as thought, I stepped past her into the passage.
“Delia!”
“Jack!”
“Hist! Close the door. Where is Mistress Finch?”
“Upstairs, expecting Colonel Essex. Oh, the happy day! Come—” she led me into a narrow back room and setting down the light regarded me—“Jack, my eyes are red for thee!”
“I see they are. To-morrow I was to be hang’d.”
She put her hands together, catching her breath: and very lovely I thought her, in her straight grey gown and Puritan cap.
“They have been questioning me. Didst get my letter?”