Then, as Scarlett stood there, hot and indignant, he heard the soft sound of stockinged feet crossing the room, and directly after a faint rattle at the door, followed by an angry exclamation, and then by a loud rumbling noise.
“What are you doing?” came from Lil’s chamber.
“Pushing something against the door—big table. There’s no key.”
“Oh!”
The table seemed to be followed by something else heavy, and directly after the occupant of the room crossed to the bed, and it seemed to Scarlett that he threw himself upon his knees for a few minutes.
Then he rose, sighed, and yawned.
“Oh, for dear old home again, and peace,” he muttered, and threw himself, all dressed as he was, upon the bed.
“By your leave, Dame Markham,” he muttered again, with a sigh of satisfaction. “If you knew how dog-tired this poor soldier is, you would forgive me. Hah!”
There was a long deep sigh, and as Scarlett stood there so closely that he could have laid his hand upon his enemy’s head, he felt that he was completely trapped, and that perhaps even to move was to ensure capture.
“What shall I do?” he asked himself. “It will be getting toward morning soon;” and now the necessity for escaping at once seemed ten thousand times more clear.