The three seamen stood in the hall, one with a lantern in his hand, the other two in the act of depositing their hampers upon the floor.
And over the edge of the plateau at that very moment and not a score of rods distant, four men were coming silently and slowly, with stern faces and cautious mien, toward the house.
“That is right,” said Craven Black, examining the hampers. “Bring up the wine baskets next.”
The three men went out. The four pursuers stood in the shadow of the trees as they passed, and then resumed their approach to the dwelling.
“I’d like to see how the girl stands her imprisonment,” said Craven Black. “I’ll let her know that we are prepared to spend the winter here. By the way, Octavia, I posted that second letter to Brussels to-day, addressed under cover of a letter to Celeste’s sister, to Lord Towyn. We have nicely hood-winked the earl, and I should like the girl to know of our successful manœuvres. Where is Celeste?”
“In Neva’s ante-room.”
“Come then. We will visit our prisoner.”
He went upstairs, Octavia following slowly, assisted by Mrs. Artress. Celeste sat at work in the ante-room of Neva’s chamber, and admitted the visitors into Neva’s presence, entering with them.
And outside the house, upon the lawn, the four shadows came nearer and yet nearer. They flitted up the steps of the porch, and in at the open door. They paused a moment in the deserted lower hall, and then, hearing voices above, came silently and darkly up the stairs, and paused at the door of the ante-room.
That room was deserted. The light streamed from the inner room, where Neva and her enemies were grouped. The sound of voices came out to the intruders. Softly, with sternly eager faces, the four crept across the floor of the ante-room, and two—Sir Harold Wynde and Lord Towyn—looked in upon the Blacks and their young victim.