The coat and hat slipped from her arm; she looked at the window; the curtain still moved, as if a hand had but recently touched it.  She stared at it—­incredulously.  He had gone; he would have none of her assistance then; preferred—­She listened, but caught only the rustling of the heavy silk.  When?  Minutes passed; at her left, a candle, carelessly adjusted by the maid, dripped to the dresser; its over-long wick threw weird, ever-changing shadows; her own silhouette appeared in various distorted forms on hangings and wall.

Still she heard nothing, nothing louder than the faint sounds at the window; the occasional, mysterious creakings of old woodwork.  He must have long since reached the ground—­the bottom of the old moat; perhaps, as the police agent and several of his men were in the house, he might even have attained the fringe of the wood.  It was not so far distant,—­the space intervening from the top of the moat contained many shrubs; in their friendly shadows—­

She stole to the corner of the window now and cautiously peered out.  The sky was overcast; below, faint markings could just be discerned; beyond, Cimmerian gloom—­Strathorn wood.

Had he reached, could he reach it?  A cool breeze fanned her cheeks without lessening the flush that burned there; her lips were half-parted.  She stepped uncertainly back; a reaction swept over her; the most trivial thoughts came to mind.  She remembered that she had not locked the door of her boudoir; that Sir Charles had told her to do so.  She almost started to obey; but laughed nervously instead.  How absurd!  What, however, should she do?  She looked toward the next room.  Go to bed?  It seemed the commonplace, natural conclusion, and, after all, life was very commonplace.  But the coat and hat she had brought there?  Consideration of them, also, came within the scope of the commonplace.

It did not take her long to dispose of them, not on the rack, however.  Standing again, a few moments later, at the head of the stairway, in the upper hall, she heard voices approaching.  Whereupon she quickly dropped both hat and coat on a chair near-by and fled to her room.

None too soon!  From above footsteps were descending; people now passed by; they evidently had been searching the third story.  She could hear their low, dissatisfied voices; the last persons to come she at once recognized by their tones.

“You have made a bungling job of it,” said Lord Ronsdale.  There was a suppressed fierce bitterness in his accents, which, however, in the excitement of the moment, the girl failed to notice.

“He had made up his mind not to be taken alive, my Lord.”

“Then—­” The other interrupted Mr. Gillett harshly, but she failed to catch more of his words.

“We’ve not lost him, my Lord,” Mr. Gillett spoke again.  “If he’s not in the house, he’s near it, in the garden, and we have every way guarded.”

“Every way guarded!” The girl drew her breath; as they disappeared, the striking of the clock caused her to start.  One! two!  About four hours of darkness, hardly that long remained for him!  And yet she would have supposed it later; it had been after one o’clock when she had come to her room.