Chapter Twenty Nine.
The Royal Visitor.
The two lads grasped hands as they listened in the intense darkness to what seemed to be a scene of extreme excitement, the actors in it having evidently been hurrying to reach the cottage, which they had gained in a state of exhaustion; for those who spoke gave utterance to their words as if panting and breathless with their exertions, while from their whispering it seemed evident that they were afraid of being overheard.
The two listeners dared not stir, for the least movement would have betrayed them to those below, and before many minutes had elapsed they felt certain that the present invaders of the cottage were strangers.
All at once some one gave vent to a piteous sigh and an ejaculation or two as if of pain; and this was followed by what sounded to be words that were full of pity and compassion, mingled with great deference, towards the sufferer.
Pen could make out nothing more in the hurried and whispered conversation than that it was in Spanish, and for the time being he felt somewhat dazed as to who the new-comers were. He was too much startled to try and puzzle out matters calmly, and for a while he devoted himself to the preservation of utter silence.
At last, though, a few more utterances below, spoken in a deferential tone, followed by a sharp, angry command or two, sent a flash through his brain, and he pressed Punch’s arm with greater energy in an effort to try and convey to his companion the thought that he knew who the fresh-comers must be.
“If they would only strike a light,” he thought to himself, “I might get a peep through the knot-hole”—which was always carefully kept clear for inspection of what took place below—“and I could see then at a glance whether this was the expected King with his followers.”
But the darkness remained profound.
“If it is the escaped Spanish King,” he said to himself, “it will be plain to see. It must be, and they have been pursued by the French, or they wouldn’t be afraid to speak aloud.”