“It is I, Mr. Buxton, but this insolent dog——”
“Stand back, madam, I say,” cried the voice of the guard. Then from the garden behind came running footsteps and voices; and a red light shone through the windows behind.
“Now,” whispered the voice over Anthony’s head sharply.
There came a loud shout from the guard, “Help there, help!”
Anthony put his hands on to the sill and lifted himself easily. The groom had slipped from his horse while Mary held the bridle, and was advancing at the guard, and there was something in his hand. The sentry, who was standing immediately under the window, now dropped his pike point forward; and as a furious rattling began at the doors on the garden side, Anthony dropped, and came down astride of the man’s neck, who crashed to the ground. Then the groom was on him too.
“Leave him to me, sir. Mount.”
The groom’s hands were busy with something about the struggling man’s neck: the shouts choked and ceased.
“You will strangle the man,” said Anthony sharply.
“Nonsense,” said Mary; “mount, mount. They are coming.”
Anthony ran to the horse, that was beginning to scurry and plunge; threw himself across the saddle and caught the reins.