He rose to go to the door, but his wounded leg gave way, and he staggered to the staircase, and leaned against the balustrade.
Elizabeth’s look of gratification faded. She ran to the door, fastened it with bolt and key, and stood with her back against it.
The sound, first distant as if in the Mile Square road, was now manifestly in the highway. Would it come southward, towards the house, or go northward, decreasing?
“They are my men!” cried Peyton to Cuff. “Call them! They’ll pass without knowing I am here. Call them, I say! Quick! They’ll be out of hearing.”
“Silence!” said Elizabeth to Cuff, in a low tone, and stood listening.
Peyton made another attempt to move, but realized his inability. ’Twas all he could do to support himself against the balustrade.
“My God, they’ve gone by!” he cried. “They’ll return to our lines, leaving me behind.” And he shouted, “Carrington!”
The voice rang for a moment in the remoteness of the hall above. Then complete silence within. All in the hall remained motionless, listening. The sound of the horses came fainter and fainter.
“Carrington! Help! I’m in the manor-house,—a prisoner!”