Bess had already, with a hasty hand, removed some of the plates and mugs from the table. She made sure that Henrietta was all but invisible behind the settle. Then she went to the door.
“Who’s there?” she cried aloud.
No one answered, but the knock was repeated.
Henrietta raised her white face above the level of the settle. She listened, and hope, terrified as she was, rose in her heart. Who was likely to visit this lonely house at so late an hour? Was it not almost certain that her friends were there? And that another minute would see her safe in their hands?
Giles’s dark face peering from the doorway of the dairy answered that question. The muzzle of his weapon now covered her, now Bess. Sick at heart, almost fainting, she sank again behind the settle and prayed. While Bess with a noisy hand thrust back the great bar, and opened the door.
There was no inrush of feet, and Bess looked out.
“Well, who is it?” she asked of the darkness. “You’re late enough, whoever you are.”
The entering draught blew the flames of the candles awry. Then a woman’s voice was heard:
“I’ve come to ask how the missus is,” it said.
“Oh, you have, have you? And a fine time this!” Bess scolded, with wonderful glibness. “She’s neither better nor worse. So there! I hope you think it’s worth your trouble!”