One of them quietly slipped his robe from his shoulders, removed his helmet, put on the sentinel's coat and cap, seized his musket and walked to the door of the jail.
She heard him drop the butt of the gun on the flagstone at the steps and call:
Some one stirred inside. It was not yet one o'clock and the jailer who had been to a drinking bout with the soldiers had not gone to bed. In his shirt sleeves he thrust his head out the door:
"Who is it?"
"The guard, sir."
"Well, what the devil do you want?"
"Can't ye gimme a drink of somethin'? I'm soaked through and I've caught cold——"
"All right, in a minute," was the gruff reply.
The girl could hear the soft tread of the shrouded figures closing in on the front door. A moment more and it opened. The voice inside said: