Ravenshaw and Sir Clement, having exhausted their topic of conversation, were regarding each other in silence. Jerningham, as his eyes fell upon the front door, suddenly exclaimed:
"The horse! Zounds, in this pelting rain—" He seized one of the lanterns and ran to the porch. "How now? The beast is not here!" He came back into the hall, looking puzzled.
"Perhaps the old man hath put him under roof," suggested Ermsby.
Jerningham went to the kitchen door and called Jeremy, who averred he had not been near the horse since he had tied it outside the porch.
"'Twas ill tied, no doubt," said Jerningham, "and hath got loose and sought shelter. Belike you left the stable door open. Go and see; and look in all the penthouses, too."
Jeremy went out. His return was awaited in silence, Jerningham pacing the hall, Sir Clement staying motionless at the table's edge, Ravenshaw sitting upon the stool before Millicent's room. She had not closed the door; she remained upon the pallet, able to see a little of the hall, but herself out of the light that came in through the doorway. Her thoughts were in confusion; at last they became so clouded that, obeying the impulse of fatigue, she lay down on the pallet, without heed of the act; soon she was in a state between anxious waking and a troubled dream.
Jeremy came back, dripping, and said the horse was not to be found.
Berating him for stupidity, his master sent him back to the kitchen. Jerningham presently sat down upon a chair near the table against which Sir Clement stood. Slowly the minutes passed, while the heavy beat of the rain against the casements was the only sound. Once Jerningham called out: "Is all well with you, mistress?"
Millicent, brought to a sense of her whereabouts after a moment's bewilderment, answered: "Yes, I thank you." The silence fell again.
At last Jerningham said to Sir Clement: "Those rascals yonder need not have all the good cheer to themselves. There's better drink than ale left in the house." He rose, and summoned Meg from the kitchen.