Bang! crash! jingle!
“Oh, Mas’ Don!”
“I couldn’t help it, Jem; the iron fastening came out. The wood’s rotten.”
For the skylight had fallen back with a crash, and some of the broken glass came musically jingling down, some of it sliding along the tiles, and dropping into the alley below.
There was a dead silence, neither of the would-be evaders of the enforced king’s service moving, but listening intently for the slightest sound.
“Think they heared it, Mas’ Don?” said Jem, at last, in a hoarse whisper.
“I can’t hear anything,” replied Don, softly.
They listened again, but all was wonderfully quiet. A distant murmur came from the busy streets, and a clock struck nine.
“Why, that’s Old Church,” said Jem in a whisper. “We must be close down to the water side, Mas’ Don.”
“Yes, Jem. Shall we give it up, or risk it?”