The Duke’s voice, sharp with impatience, roused him:
“Well, booby? Will you stand there all night considering?”
Holles turned.
“All is here, under your grace’s hand, I think,” he said quietly.
“Then you may take yourself off.”
Holles bowed submissively. He dared not look at Nan; but he caught the sudden gasp of her breath, and without looking beheld her start, and imagined the renewed horror and wide-eyed scorn in which she regarded this fresh display of cowardice and vileness.
He stalked to the door, the Duke’s eyes following him with odd suspicion, puzzled ever by that something here which he perceived, but whose significance eluded him. Holding the edge of the open door in his hand, Holles half-turned again. He was still playing for time in which to decide upon his course of action.
“Your grace, I take it, will not require me further to-night?”
His grace considered. Beyond the Duke Holles had a glimpse of Nan, standing wide-eyed, livid as death, leaning against the table, her right hand pressed upon her heaving breast as if to control its tumult.
“No,” said his grace slowly, at last, “Yet you had best remain at hand with François and the others.”