“Not one soul since nightfall, save the village doctor, your Lordship.”

Lord Cedric had enjoined perfect silence, fearing lest some noise might disturb his Grace of Ellswold.

The lackeys bearing lighted tapers—­behind them the young lord of the castle, with the attendant Janet—­moved solemnly like a procession.

They passed thus from room to corridor, from hall to gallery, and through passages; examining secret exits and closets.  They traversed the long banquet-hall and were upon the threshold of a carved and lofty doorway, when Janet espied upon the parquetry a cobweb bit of lace protruding from beneath the tapestry of a chair.  Lord Cedric’s keen eyes marked her movement as she essayed to reach it without his notice.  He turned quickly and fierce upon her, knocking his sword with a loud noise upon the chair’s carving.

“Give me thy treasure, Janet!” She gave it to him with something like a sob; for ‘twas her mistress’ handkerchief, and she feared mightily her lord’s anger.

“Your Lordship!  If it so turned out that she be holding some rendezvous with thy Russian guest—­”

“Ah, ’sdeath!” he interrupted.

“I beg thou wilt forgive much, she being of such slender age and knowing not the great wrong of clandestine—­”

“Ah! ah! she holdeth court here in the chief butlery.”

The door before them had been thrown open by the lackeys.  They stood upon either side for his Lordship to pass through.  Beyond, framed in the dark embrasure of the archway, stood Mistress Penwick in gleaming white.  Her hands behind her rested upon a table from which long leaves depended to the floor, upon either side, her camelot cloak was thrown carelessly upon the further end, its long fulness draping to the floor, and in the centre of the polished top of the table rested a tall, silver candlestick with lighted taper.  Upon the hearthstone there shot up a cheerful blaze, for the night was damp and chilly, and the flickering light sent Mistress Penwick’s hair first amber, then bronze.  Her face was still and white, and her eyes flashed wide and boldly.  Her heart beat high and her breath came fast and hard.

For a moment only his Lordship’s glance fell upon her, then it swept the room from end to end, and from ceiling to parquetry.  Then occurred a strange thing to them all; for ’twas ever Cedric’s way to swear and curse, using holy names and blasphemous phrases; and it startled Katherine more than all, as he spoke low and calmly, holding out his jewelled hand to her: 

“Come, Mistress Penwick, I will escort thee to thy chamber; ’tis a childish trick of thine to seek bread and butter at such unseemly hours.”

“But, my lord, I am not yet begun.”

“Ah!—­with one pair of shapely hands unused to spreading butter, it doth take long in preparation.”  The snowy whiteness of his Lordship’s waist reflected upon his face, where now came and went its wonted colour, as doubt and certainty fought for supremacy.  He stepped nearer and glanced behind her upon the table.