"The hog to his stye," he said bitterly. "I am going to take some supper, and then to bed, for I am very weary."
Arm in arm with Ambrose Cholmondely, he descended the stairs, went into the Common Room, and made a simple meal.
The place was riotous with high spirits, the talk was fast and free, but he joined in none of it, and in a very few minutes had returned to his room, closed the door, and thrown himself upon the bed.
Almost immediately he sank into a deep sleep.
He was dreaming of Elizabeth, and in his dream was interwoven the sound of great bells, when the fantastic painted pictures of sleep were suddenly shaken violently and dissolved. They flashed away, and his voice rose in calling after them to stay, when he suddenly awoke.
The bells were still going on, deep golden notes from the central cupola over the Queen's Gallery, beating out the hour of eleven. But as they changed from dream into reality—much louder and imminent—he felt himself shaken violently. A strong hand gripped his shoulder, a hoarse voice mingled with the bell-music in his ears. He awoke.
His little room was lit by a lanthorn standing upon the mantel with the door open.
John Hull, a huge broad shadow, was bending over him. He sat up in bed.
"Dame!" he cried, "and what is this?"
"Master! Master! She has been taken away! My little mistress! Most foully taken away, and none know where she may be!"