“Good God!” Mr. Collier whispered.
He turned stiffly and slowly, as though in a trance, and beckoned to his wife, who had followed him.
“Alice!” he called. He stepped backwards towards her, and taking her hand in one of his, drew her towards the prisoner. “Here he is!” he said.
They heard her cry “Henry!” with the fierceness of a call for help, and saw her rush forward and stumble into the arms of the prisoner, and their two heads were bent close together.
Collier ran up the steps and explained breathlessly.
“And now,” he gasped, in conclusion, “what’s to be done? What’s he arrested for? Is it bailable? What?”
“Good heavens!” exclaimed Sir Charles, miserably. “It is my fault entirely. I assure you I had no idea. How could I? But I should have known, I should have guessed it.” He dismissed the sentries with a gesture. “That will do,” he said. “Return to your posts.”
Mr. Collier laughed with relief.
“Then it is not serious?” he asked.
“He—he had no money, that was all,” exclaimed Sir Charles. “Serious? Certainly not. Upon my word, I’m sorry—”