There was no sound in Govicum's room.
"At his age," said Gwynplaine, "a boy sleeps soundly."
With the back of his hand he knocked against the window gently. Nothing stirred.
He knocked louder twice. Still nothing stirred. Then, feeling somewhat uneasy, he went to the door of the inn and knocked. No one answered. He reflected, and began to feel a cold shudder come over him.
"Master Nicless is old, children sleep soundly, and old men heavily. Courage! louder!"
He had tapped, he had knocked, he had kicked the door; now he flung himself against it.
This recalled to him a distant memory of Weymouth, when, a little child, he had carried Dea, an infant, in his arms.
He battered the door again violently, like a lord, which, alas! he was.
The house remained silent. He felt that he was losing his head. He no longer thought of caution. He shouted,—
"Nicless! Govicum!"