It was a piercing shriek—no unusual sound; and as he spoke, the door of an adjoining house was flung open, a woman rushed wildly out, fled down an adjoining street, and disappeared.
Sir Norman and his companion looked at each other, and then at the house.
“What's all this about?” demanded Ormiston.
“That's a question I can't take it upon myself to answer,” said Sir Norman; “and the only way to solve the mystery, is to go in and see.”
“It may be the plague,” said Ormiston, hesitating. “Yet the house is not marked. There is a watchman. I will ask him.”
The man with the halberd in his hand was walking up and down before an adjoining house, bearing the ominous red cross and piteous inscription: “Lord have mercy on us!”
“I don't know, sir,” was his answer to Ormiston. “If any one there has the plague, they must have taken it lately; for I heard this morning there was to be a wedding there to-night.”
“I never heard of any one screaming in that fashion about a wedding,” said Ormiston, doubtfully. “Do you know who lives there?”
“No, sir. I only came here, myself, yesterday, but two or three times to-day I have seen a very beautiful young lady looking out of the window.”
Ormiston thanked the man, and went back to report to his friend.