The next minute as they moved forward the head of the stone steps was reached, lying in the darkness of the clouded night nearly hidden by a great overhanging willow, whose pensile twigs brushed the roof of the waterside summer-house supported upon slimy water-worn piles, to one of which the boat-chain was attached, the rusty iron creaking faintly against the ring-bolt as the skiff swung softly to and fro, influenced by the swift stream.
“Hah!” sighed Leoni to himself. “Fate is with us yet. Who says our mission is unrighteous?” And a feeling of exultation rose within his breast, only to be crushed-down directly after by what seemed to be a heavy weight of misery, beyond which he seemed to see the reproachful eyes of the King’s esquire, sacrificed that he might succeed.
“Into it and unloose the chain, boy,” whispered Leoni, eager by action to change the current of his thoughts.
Saint Simon quickly sheathed sword and dagger as he stood on the lowest step and reached out to draw in the boat, into which he stepped, making the chain rattle as he drew it through the ring, and his leaden utter an impatient:
“Hist!”
The next minute the freed boat was grinding against the step, and Leoni steadied it by planting a foot upon its side.
“Now, boy,” he whispered, “seat yourself, and be ready with the oars—good! Now rest one on the step here and keep the boat steady.—Quick, sir! Step in, and sit down at once.”
The King obeyed without a word, and no sooner was he seated than Leoni followed, and took his own place between Francis and Saint Simon, whom he relieved of one of the oars.
“Push off!” whispered Saint Simon, who held the oar that rested on the steps.
“One moment’s thought,” whispered back Leoni, speaking over his left shoulder, as he glared around for danger, his ears twitching the while like those of some wild animal which felt that there was peril in the air.