On reaching its edge, he had leaped into it.
It was no fancy of the sentinel, that a cloaked figure had disappeared in that direction—in a somewhat mysterious manner.
After making his descent into the ditch, Holtspur came to a halt—to disembarrass himself of the unbecoming garments that impeded the action of his arms and limbs. Both the skirt and cloak were cast off.
His next action was to elevate his eyes above the parapet; and, if possible, ascertain whether his escape had become known to the guards. This action took place, just as the sentry had stepped outside the wicket, and was calling upon his Betsey to come back. It was so dark, Holtspur could not see the man; but he had noted the lifting of the latch, and could hear his mutterings.
Next moment the lightning flashed—revealing to the astonished eyes of the sentry a lady robed in rich velvet.
Holtspur saw the lady by the same light—deriving from the sight a very different impression.
His first feeling was one of surprise—quickly succeeded by a vague sense of pain.
The first arose from seeing Marion Wade abroad at that hour of the night; for, despite the cloak and close-drawn hood, he had recognised the daughter of Sir Marmaduke. Her bounding step and tall symmetrical form were not to be mistaken by any one who had ever observed them; and upon the mind of Henry Holtspur they were indelibly impressed.
His second emotion was the result of a series of interrogative conjectures. For what purpose was she abroad? Was it to meet some one? An appointment? Scarthe?
For some seconds the lover’s heart was on fire—or felt as if it was.