But, just as he touched the heavy carved side, he broke out into a cold perspiration, for there came in a sharp, short, imperious tone—
“Halt!”
“He was not asleep,” thought Scarlett; and in an instant he had seized the table to drag it away, when a loud sound from the adjoining chamber made him drop down on his hands and knees, in the expectation of a bullet from a petronel.
The sound he had heard was that of a man leaping from his bed. Then there were the dull soft steps of stockinged feet, and he could hear the second officer enter the room.
“What’s the matter?” he said, as he advanced toward the bed where his companion lay.
“Left troop to the front!” came from the bed.
“Poor old fellow!” muttered the second officer. “He cannot even keep this weary work out of his sleep.”
Scarlett heard him walk back to the inner room, and as soon as he felt that the door was passed, he began to feel for the second obstacle between him and liberty.
For a few moments he could not make out what it was. He tried softly to left and right, but there was nothing. All he could detect was that the end of the long table was against the door, and then as he rose and stretched his hand across it, he discovered at once what it was—nothing but a heavy oaken chest, which had been lifted up and stood upon the table, to give it weight.
Meanwhile, he could hear every movement of the occupant of the inner chamber, and a dull feeling of despair came upon him, as he knew that to attempt to stir the table, heavily laden as it was, would make so much noise that he would be detected.