It was by this same entrance the two officers had come in only a short while before. They saw the hoof-prints of their horses in the dust—still saturated with the rain that had fallen. They saw also the track of a third steed, that had been travelling the same direction: towards the house.
They found the gate closed. They had left it open. Some less negligent person had entered the park after them!
“Our host has got safe home!” whispered Scarthe to his subaltern.
“So much the better,” he—added with a significant smile, “I don’t want to capture him—at least, not now; and if I can make a captive of his daughter—not at all. If I succeed not in that, why then—then—I fear Sir Marmaduke will have to accept the hospitality of his Majesty, and abide some time under the roof of that royal mansion that lies eastward of Cheap—erst honoured by the residence of so many distinguished gentlemen. Ha! ha! ha!”
Having delivered himself of this jocular allusion to the Tower, he passed through the park gate; and at the head of his troopers continued briskly, but silently, along the king’s highway.
On went the glittering phalanx—winding up the road like some destroying serpent on its way to wickedness—the pattering of their horses’ feet, and the occasional clink of steel scabbards, striking against stirrups and çuisses, were the only sounds that broke upon the still air of the morning—to proclaim the passage of armed and mounted men.
Volume Two—Chapter Twelve.
Shortly after the spies had taken their departure from Stone Dean, the conspirators might have been seen, emerging from the house, mounting their horses, and riding off. They went, much after the fashion in which they had come—in silence, alone, or in small groups; and, after clearing the gate entrance, along different roads. Some half dozen stayed later than the rest; but before the daylight could have disclosed their identity, these had also bidden adieu to Stone Dean; and were journeying far beyond the precincts of its secluded park.