"And no one else?" asked Richard de Ashby.
"No one," answered the boy, firmly; and then added, in a more doubtful tone--"no one that I remember."
"Boy, 'tis a lie!" replied his master. "I see it on thy face: thou know'st thou liest!"--and as he spoke, he caught him by the breast, giving him a shake that made his breath come short. "Who has been here? If thou speak'st not at a word, thou shalt have a taste of this!" and he laid his hand upon his dagger.
"No one, indeed--no one that I know of," said the boy. "I may suspect----"
"And who do you suspect?" asked Richard de Ashby.
"Why, noble sir, last night," replied the boy, "as I was going up the street to seek the priest, I saw two gentlemen come near the house; and one of them, who was the noble Earl, your cousin, I am sure, went up as if to the door, and, I think, was let in; the other turned away."
"Did my cousin go in?" demanded Richard. "Say me but yea or nay.--Did he go in, I say?"
"I think so, sir," replied the youth--"I think so, but cannot be sure; there came a sudden light across the road as if the door opened, but by that time I was too far up the street to see."
"'Tis as De Margan said," thought the knight; and striding up at once to the chamber where the corpse was laid, he found the door wide open, and the body fairly laid out and decked, as it was called. A crucifix and some sprigs of holly were on the breast; a small cup of holy water stood near; a lamp was burning, although the sun was not yet down, and everything gave plain indication that the man had not died without the succour of the church, and that the corpse had been watched by other eyes besides those of poor Kate Greenly.
"I have been betrayed!" said Richard de Ashby to himself.--"I have been betrayed! Yet if it be but the priest, there is no great harm done. The secret of confession, at all events, is safe. But where is the girl herself, and what has been her communication with Alured? That must be known ere many hours be over--perhaps I shall know it soon enough.--And yet what can she tell, but that a wounded man died in my house, brought in by people who had once visited me, and that, too, while I was absent?--'Tis my own conscience makes me fear. If Ellerby would but betake himself to Wales or France, or anywhere but here, all would be safe enough; but he keeps hovering about, like a moth round a candle. Where are this man's clothes, I wonder?"--and taking up the lamp, for it was now rapidly growing dark, he sought carefully about the room; but neither clothes, nor sword, nor dagger were to be found.