"Let us go on to the terrace, aunt," said Agnes; "maybe we shall get a breath of air from the river." So they went down the magnificent staircase, through the gorgeous banqueting-hall, on to the terrace.
Though the day was over and the sun had set, the heat was beyond description. The whole city seemed to glow with the after-math. The girl was tired, and quietly, without knowing it, she began again to weep.
"Oh Agnes, my child, what is it?" said Patience.
"I don't know," she answered; "my soul is heavy within me. I am afraid."
Patience did not ask her what she was afraid of; she knew only too well she was afraid of everything. She put her arm round her and talked to her quietly of life and death.
After a little time the child's soul was comforted, and Patience took her by the hand and led her to her own chamber; as she could not sleep, she sat with her far into the night, and only when the day was dawning did she leave her.
CHAPTER XVIII
Lost
Suddenly out of her sleep Agnes woke to full consciousness. She heard distinctly the cry of the watchman call out three o'clock in the morning as he passed his rounds.
She turned her face to the window and looked out--the sky was blood-red. A great horror seized her. She sprang out of bed and began putting on her clothes. She hardly knew what she was doing. One door in her room opened into Patience's, the other on to a landing leading to the grand staircase. She felt she must have air--she could not stay in that closed-up room; so, slipping her clothes on and wrapping a light cloak round her, she drew the hood over her head and left the room. She had not gone far when she was confronted by one of the watchers, men told off to guard the queen's house.