He passed up the hall after her.  He was as unhappy as possible.  He wondered what she could have to say to him; she must surely understand that no pleading could turn him; he must do his duty.  Yet he would certainly do this with as little offence as he could.

“Mistress Manners—­” he began.

Then she turned on him again.  They were at the further end of the hall, and could speak low without being overheard.

“You must begone again,” she whispered.  “Oh! you must begone again.  You do not understand; you—­”

Her eyes still burned with that terrible eloquence; it was as the face of one on the rack.

“Mistress, I cannot begone again.  I must do my duty.  But I promise you—­”

She was close to him, staring into his face; he could feel the heat of her breath on his face.

“You must begone at once,” she whispered, still in that voice of agony.  He saw her begin to sway on her feet and her eyes turn glassy.  He caught her as she swayed.

“Here! you women!” he cried.

* * * * *

It was all that he could do to force himself out through the crowd of folks that looked on him.  It was not that they barred his way.  Rather they shrank from him; yet their eyes pulled and impeded him; it was by a separate effort that he put each foot before the other.  Behind he could hear the long moan that she had given die into silence, and the chattering whispers of her women who held her.  He reassured himself savagely; he would take care that no one was taken ... she would thank him presently; he would but set guards at all the doors and make a cursory search; he would break a panel or two; no more.  And that would save both his face and her own....  Yet he loathed even such work as this....

He turned abruptly as he came into the buttery passage.

“All the women in the hall,” he said sharply.  “Jack, keep the door fast till we are done.”

V

He took particular pains to do as little damage as possible.

First he went through the out-houses, himself with a pike testing the haystacks, where he was sure that no man could be hidden.  The beasts turned slow and ruminating eyes upon him as he went by their stalls.

As he passed, a little later, the inner door into the buttery passage, he could hear the beating of hands on the hall-door.  He went on quickly to the kitchen, hating himself, yet determined to get all done quickly, and drove the kitchen-maid, who was crouching by the unlighted fire, out behind him, sending a man with her to bestow her in the hall.  She wailed as she went by him, but it was unintelligible, and he was in no mood for listening.

“Take her in,” he said; “but let no one out, nor a message, till all is done.” (He thought that the kinder course.)

Then at last he went upstairs, still with his little bodyguard of four, of whom one was the man who had followed the fugitive down from the hills.