Chapter Thirty Four.
A dash for liberty.
“Oh!” groaned Denis to himself, as he stood in the darkness watching the shape of the saddle-room door, marked-out as it was in lines of light from the lanterns within, listening to the low muttering of voices, and shuddering once as his wounded adversary uttered a low deep groan, which was followed directly after by an angry ejaculation as if he were enraged by the clumsy surgery of the men.
“Is all this going to be in vain?” muttered the boy. “It is as if the whole business is accursed and is bound to fail.”
He stood listening, and the talking went on, to be interrupted by another fierce ejaculation from the captain, who gave some order; but what it was Denis could not grasp, and he literally groaned again.
“They do not come! They do not come!” he said. “It is all useless. They must have failed.”
He had hardly spoken the words when he fancied he heard steps; but all was still, and then he started violently and clapped his hand to his sword, for some one tried to open the saddle-room door, then shook it, and the words of whoever it was came plainly to the lad’s cars:
“I can’t, Sir Robert. He has shut us in.”
“What!” came hoarsely; and at the same moment Denis’s heart leaped, for there was no mistake this time. Footsteps were rapidly approaching, whether friends’ or foes’ it was impossible to tell, and taking a step outside the door with his bridle over his arm, his horse followed him, setting in motion the other three, which, well-trained as they were, ranged up alongside upon the cobble stones before the double doors.
There was no doubt now, for three figures, plainly seen by the light which shone out of the saddle-room window, came breathlessly up, and the first to speak cried in familiar tones: