“Hold back, John, for the love of God! There’s a wall in front of us, and water beyond it.”
John Gore dismounted and ran to help his friend, whose scared horse was raking him through the thorn boughs. He caught the animal’s bridle and quieted him, so that Mr. Pepys was able to slip out of the saddle.
“Where the devil are we now, John? Heaven help my poor face! I feel as though I had married fifteen wives, and all of them with finger-nails and tempers.”
“Hold the horses and I’ll reconnoitre.”
“Do, good John; but first let me find my hat.”
Outlined dimly by the light were two massive pillars that looked as though they flanked a gate. Moving very cautiously, John Gore found a bridge of tree-trunks across a moat, and a heavy gate at the end thereof. Peering through the crevice between the hinge-edge and the pillar, he could see the light burning behind a window near the ground.
“Where are you, John?”
“Here, over the bridge. There is a gate here, barred. The place must be of some size to have such a moat round it. I will try a shout.”
He gave a seaman’s hail, while Mr. Pepys, who was a man of many tricks, put two fingers in his mouth and blew a shrill whistle.
The light did not move, but they heard the deep baying of a dog, and then footsteps coming out into the yard. The steps paused, as though some one was listening, and a voice growled out an order to the dog.