"Then go you to the hall and call the men, and bring the horses to the door. We shall ride by the road, if we can, to leave the trace there. But if these fellows by chance come up too soon, we shall use the way through the park."
"What of the wounded men, sir?"
"Those that cannot go with us may lie close in some outhouse loft here, with John Hatch to care for them. I'll give him money for their needs. Look to it all, Anthony. I'll meet you at the hall door."
The Puritan rode off, to round the corner of the wing. Marryott, not waiting to close the casement, awoke Tom Cobble and Francis, and sent them to join the men in the hall, the apprentice still in charge of the page. When these two had gone, Marryott knocked at Mistress Hazlehurst's door.
He waited. Nothing was heard but the wind, and the beating of flakes upon the window. He knocked again.
By roundabout ways came faint and indistinct scraps of the noise attendant upon Anthony's awakening the men.
"Mistress Hazlehurst!" called Marryott, softly. "It is time for us to go."
In the ensuing silence, a vague fear grew within him,—fear for his mission, fear for her. Could aught have befallen her?
"Madam!" he said, a little louder and faster. "I must bid you rise. We must set forth."
Marryott's heart was beating wildly. His was not a time of, nor this the moment for, false delicacy. He flung open the door, and strode into her chamber.