The room turned suddenly dark to Isabel’s eyes; and she put up her hand and tore at the collar round her throat.
“Oh no, no, no, no!” she cried, and tottered a step or two forward and stood swaying.
Lady Maxwell looked from one to another with eyes that seemed to see nothing; and her lips stirred again.
Mistress Margaret who had followed the stranger up, and who stood now behind him at the door, came forward to Isabel with a little cry, with her hands trembling before her. But before she could reach her, Lady Maxwell herself came swiftly forward, her head thrown back, and her arms stretched out towards the girl, who still stood dazed and swaying more and more.
“My poor, poor child!” said Lady Maxwell; and caught her as she fell.
FROM FULHAM TO GREENWICH
Anthony in London, strangely enough, heard nothing of the arrest on the Sunday, except a rumour at supper that some Papists had been taken. It had sufficient effect on his mind to make him congratulate himself that he had been able to warn his friend last week.
At dinner on Monday there were a few guests; and among them, one Sir Richard Barkley, afterwards Lieutenant of the Tower. He sat at the Archbishop’s table, but Anthony’s place, on the steward’s left hand, brought him very close to the end of the first table where Sir Richard sat. Dinner was half way through, when Mr. Scot who was talking to Anthony, was suddenly silent and lifted his hand as if to check the conversation a moment.
“I saw them myself,” said Sir Richard’s voice just behind.