And indeed there was a strange hush everywhere. Even the boatman’s oars made no sound as he drew them out of the water, and when they landed and walked up a lane with a row of gabled houses on one side of it, the people they passed, flitted by like ghosts.
It was nearly dark now, and only one dim lantern slung on a rope across the lane showed the way. Every now and then, however, a man or boy passed, carrying a lighted torch which flung a ruddy glare across the road.
“We are passing St. Saviour’s Church,” said Betty, looking up at its tower dark against the stars.
Just as she spoke, a man wrapped in a cloak hurried by, making no sound, and entered a house opposite the church. The light from a torch fell for a moment upon him, giving Betty a glimpse of him before he closed the door.
“That’s William Shakespeare,” whispered Godmother.
Betty rubbed her eyes.
“Oh! I’m so sorry to come back!” she exclaimed, glancing round the parlour.
“To come forward, you mean,” Godmother corrected her, smiling. “We’ve leapt more than three hundred years onwards since a second ago.”