“Have you killed him, my lord?” he asked.
Henge lay so still that Raby stirred him with his foot.
“I know not,” he answered; “he has a thrust below the collar bone, but I think ’tis too high for his heart. I got a blow under his guard and he went down like a sack of salt, and has not opened his eyes since.”
“’Twas a pity to kill him,” the officer said, laying his hand on the fallen man’s heart; “my lord privy seal would have him taken alive at all costs.”
The room began to fill with strangers, twenty torches and lanterns were about it and on the stairs; the court was thronged with a gaping crowd that fell back to let two new-comers pass, Sir William Carew and Cromwell. Some one had run for a leech, and the little man came hurrying in with his bag and knelt on the other side of Henge, opposite the captain. Old Madam was there, her farthingale tucked up and her great boots showing, and Betty Carew stood leaning on the arm of Lord Raby, who had no eyes save for her, and was whispering in her ear fond and joyful words while the others gathered around Henge. There was silence and confusion, however, when my lord privy seal entered with Carew.
“Ah, this is blundering work!” Cromwell exclaimed, at the sight of the prostrate figure; “this man was needed by the State. Who did this?”
Raby stood forth, and in a moment the light of all the torches was centered on his pale face and disordered dress.
“My lord,” he said, “’twas I who disobeyed your instructions. When I received the warning, sent by one of this villain’s grooms, I ran with all speed to the house, and hearing a cry for help, came in, the door being unlocked, as had been promised. I found this devil here, trying to keep this young lady a prisoner. We fought and he fell; I knew not that I had seriously hurt him.”
Cromwell was watching the doctor, who had his ear against Sir Barton’s breast.
“Is he gone?” he asked sharply.