“They’re coming in! They’re down stairs!” she exclaimed excitedly.
A flickering light below suddenly threw dim moving shadows upon the ceiling of the hall. As she spoke she stepped forward and stumbled over the debris at the door. His arm was about her, almost before the startled exclamation had fallen from her lips; for a moment her shapely, young figure rested against him. But quickly she extricated herself, and they picked their way cautiously over the bestrewn threshold out into the hall.
At the balustrade, they paused. Reconnoitering at the turn, they were afforded full survey of the lower hall where the latest comers had taken possession. Few in numbers, the gathering had come to a dead stop, regarding in surprise the broken door, and the furniture wantonly demolished. But amid this scene of rack and ruin, an object of especial wonder to the 189 newcomers was the great lifting-stone lying in the hall amid the havoc it had wrought.
“No one but Dick, the tollman, could have thrown that against the door!” said a little man who seemed a person of authority. “I wonder where the patroon can be?”
With unusual pallor of face the young girl stepped from behind the sheltering post. Her hand, resting doubtfully upon the balustrade, sought in unconscious appeal her companion’s arm, as they descended together the broad steps. In the partial darkness the little man ill discerned the figures, but divined their bearing in the relation of outlines limned against the obscure background.
“Why,” he muttered in surprise, “this is not the patroon! And here, if I am not mistaken, is the lady Mr. Barnes is so anxious about.”
“Mr. Barnes––he is with you?”
It was Constance that spoke.
“Yes; but––”
“Where is he?”