And still the sleeper never moved, but, instead, snored loudly, the noise reverberating through the house.
Turning, he put his arm around Marion Wyatt's waist and lifted her off the ground so that her body was on his shoulder--he seeming to her to do this as easily as she, herself, could have lifted a velvet cushion--then, on tiptoe, and keeping always in the deepest blackness of the hall's extremity, he advanced to the great door and felt for the lock. But the key was not in it! Had it been, another moment would have seen them outside, since there was but one transverse bar to push up, and one turn to be given to that key.
"The bunch is on the table," he whispered. "I see it glittering in the light cast by the logs. Stay here while I go back for it and--if you can--push up the bar that is athwart the panels. But, in the name of heaven, of all our hopes, do it gently, softly. If it creaks or makes any noise so as to awaken the man, I must stab him to the heart for our own protection. Be careful--do it inch by inch--I will stand over him. Begin when I am by his side."
A few moments more and he did stand over the other, his hand upon his dagger ready to plunge it into Brach's heart should he awaken. Once, too, that hand half drew the knife from its sheath--for the great transverse bar creaked slightly as the girl removed it from its wooden socket and pushed it upwards!
In his other hand he held the great bunch of keys!
And now the time had come; they were saved! The bar was up. Brach still slept. All in the house was quiet as death. There was no more to do but to fit in the key, turn it, and so go forth into the night. They were saved!
* * * * * *
Across the hall he made his way, Marion Wyatt standing by the great portal, her back to it, waiting for him to reach her. Then--suddenly--on the vast place without, they heard the rapid clatter of a horse's hoofs, heard the iron of its shoes ring smartly out upon the stones as it struck them; heard a man's voice call harshly, "Ho! within. Open quickly," and, with a smothered shriek, Marion fell on her knees, her hands clasped and wrung together.
"'Tis he," she wailed. "He! De Bois-Vallée. God help us We are lost."
"'Tis he for sure," Andrew replied. "As for being lost, we will see for that. Put back the bolt. He is not in his house yet. Later, we will open to him. At present the work is here," and, wasting no further time, he rushed at the man, Brach, who, even though he had not been already awakened, would have been so by the loud reverberation of the bar as the distracted woman flung it back across the door into its socket.