Then, like a flash of lightning, he saw it all: they could not cross that red line drawn across the door-way.
Oliver's courage came back to him with a bound. He sat up and looked at them struggling and striving to get at him, and kept back as by an unseen wall of adamant. Instinctively he reached out and raised the overturned lantern, for the light was on the verge of flickering out.
"Promise me that I shall reach home safe and sound," said he, "and you shall yet have the two bottles."
"AT THE OPEN DOOR-WAY STOOD GASPARD AND HIS MASTER."
The master did not seem to hear him. Oliver repeated the words. Then suddenly the other ceased from the violence of his gestures and exclamations, shook himself, and stood erect, pulled down his lace cuffs, and wiped his face with his cambric handkerchief. Then he fixed upon Oliver a basilisk glance, and smiled a dreadful smile.
"Gaspard," said he, "let us go."
He turned and walked up the stone steps again, closely followed by his servant, and poor Oliver sat staring stonily after them.
Above, the master gave an order. Oliver heard a grating, grinding noise. There was a crash that echoed clamorously through the stillness, a clanking rattle, a grating screech, a click, and then the silence of death.