“Here, if you please,” said Mary.
Before Hubert could answer, Lackington came down the passage, hurrying with a drawn sword, and his hat on his head. Isabel did not recognise him as he stopped and tapped Hubert on the arm familiarly.
“The prisoners must not be together,” he said.
Hubert drew back his arm and looked the man in the face.
“They are not prisoners; and they shall be together. Take off your hat, sir.”
Then, as Lackington drew back astonished, he opened the door.
“You shall not be disturbed here,” he said, and the two went in, and the door closed behind them. There was a murmur of voices outside the door, and they heard a name called once or twice, and the sound of footsteps. Then came a tap, and Hubert stepped in quietly and closed the door.
“I have placed my own man outside,” he said, “and none shall trouble you—and—Mistress Isabel—I will do my best.” Then he bowed and went out.
The long miserable afternoon began. They watched through the windows the sentries going up and down the broad paths between the glowing flower-beds; and out, over the high iron fence that separated the garden from the meadows, the crowd of villagers and children watching.