They had ridden for some two hours, when Gabriel pointed to a tower darkly outlined against the pale sky. “Yonder lies the church,” he said. “We take this turning to the right. What is that ahead? Surely I saw a light through the trees.”
“Corpse candles in the churchyard, maybe,” said Joscelyn.
“No, ’twas not near the church, but yonder. See, ’tis a light in a cottage; ’tis the gatehouse of the Manor.”
“All the better,” said Joscelyn, “they will be ready to open to us.”
Without replying, Gabriel dismounted and looked closely at the marks on the road near the gate. “A couple of horsemen have just entered, I should say by these hoof-prints,” he exclaimed. And picking up a pebble he threw it against the lighted window of the gate-house.
Immediately the door of the lodge was cautiously opened, and an old white-haired man put out his head. “Who goes there?” he cried.
“We have a message from your master, Major Locke, and have ridden in haste from Gloucester,” said Gabriel.
The old man, looking much perturbed, took up his lantern and came out to the gate. “Why, that be strange,” he said, scratching his head, as he noted the orange scarves with which their buff coats were girt, “you bring a message from master at Gloucester, and but ten minutes since I let in two gentlemen who brought a message from him at Little Dean, where they tell me he lies wounded and a prisoner.”
“Was the messenger you admitted Colonel Norton?” asked Joscelyn Heyworth.
“Ay, ’twas young Squire Norton that lives over at Crawleigh Park; known master all his life he has, and was willing to show him a kindness and take Mistress Helena to him ere he die.”