VI

He was dazed and blinded by the light when, after infinite hours, he drew the bolts and slid the panel open.

* * * * *

He had lost all idea of time utterly:  he did not know whether he should find that night had come, or that the next day had dawned.  He had waited there, period after period; he marked one of them by eating food that had no taste and drinking liquid that stung his throat but did not affect his palate; he had marked another by saying compline to himself in a whisper.

During the earlier part of those periods he had followed—­he thought with success—­the dreadful drama that was acted in the house.  Someone had made a formal inspection of all the chambers—­a man who said little and moved heavily with something of a limp (he had thought this to be my lord Shrewsbury himself, who suffered from the gout):  this man had walked slowly through the chapel and out again.

At a later period he had heard the horses being brought round the house; heard plainly the jingle of the bits and a sneeze or two.  This had been followed by long interminable talking, muffled and indistinguishable, that came up to him from some unknown direction.  Voices changed curiously in loudness and articulation as the speakers moved about.

At a later period a loud trampling had begun again, plainly from the hall:  he had interpreted this to mean that the prisoners were being removed out of doors; and he had been confirmed in this by hearing immediately afterwards again the stamping of horses and the creaking of leather.

Again there had been a pause, broken suddenly by loud women’s wailing.  And at last the noise of horses moving off; the noise grew less; a man ran suddenly through the archway and out again, and, little by little, complete silence once more.

Yet he had not dared to move.  It was the custom, he knew, sometimes to leave three or four men on guard for a day or two after such an assault, in the hope of starving out any hidden fugitives that might still be left.  So he waited again—­period after period; he dozed a little for weariness, propped against the narrow walls of his hidinghole; woke; felt again for food and found he had eaten it all ... dozed again.

Then he had started up suddenly, for without any further warning there had come a tiny indeterminate tapping against his panel.  He held his breath and listened.  It came again.  Then fearlessly he drew back the bolts, slid the panel open and shut his eyes, dazzled by the light.

He crawled out at last, spent and dusty.  There was looking at him only the little red-eyed maid whom he had tried to comfort at some far-off hour in his life.  Her face was all contorted with weeping, and she had a great smear of dust across it.

“What time is it?” he said.

“It ... it is after two o’clock,” she whispered.