“Yes, yes,” she returned, “the stairway, hall and every outer door.”
“And the inn-yard?”
“Yes, and the stall where my horse is standing.”
She hurried into the alcove and returned with a cape thrown over her shoulders, in the hood of which she was hastily arranging her hair.
“See,” she said, pointing towards the arras, “the filled saddle bags are there. You must bring them with thee. And where am I to meet thee?”
“At the gnarled oak,” he answered, “a half mile from here at the point where the road turns downward to the little bridge. You will wait for me there.”
“But why do you not go with me?”
“I wish to hide the crime,” he whispered, and as she looked inquiringly at him, he added, “Nay, do not ask how.”
And with these words he cautiously unbolted and opened the door wide enough to admit of her exit. The hall lamps had been extinguished.
“It is very dark,” he whispered as though hesitating at the thought of her departure alone.