“What is it, what is it?” he whispered sharply.
“Hush,” she said; and the two stood together in silence.
The moments passed; Anthony could hear the quick thumping beat of his own heart, and the breathing of Mistress Margaret; but the hall was perfectly quiet, where the magistrate with the prisoner and his men stood in an irregular dark group with the candle behind them; and no sound came from the room beyond.
Then the handle turned, and a crack of light showed; but no further sound; then the door opened wide, a flood of light poured out and Sir Nicholas tottered into the hall.
“Margaret, Margaret,” he cried. “Where are you? Go to her.”
There was a strange moaning sound from the brightly lighted room. The old lady dropped Anthony’s hand and moved swiftly and unfalteringly across, and once more the door closed behind her.
There was a sharp word of command from the magistrate, and the sentries from every door left their posts, and joined the group which, with Sir Nicholas and his guest and Mr. Boyd in the centre, now passed out through the garden door.
The magistrate paused as he saw Anthony standing there alone.
“I can trust you, young gentleman,” he said, “not to give the alarm till we are gone?”
Anthony nodded, and the magistrate passed briskly out on to the terrace, shutting the door behind him; there was a rush of footsteps and a murmur of voices and the hall was filled with the watching servants.