“It is his cloak, of a surety,” returned Rowland “Harkye, sirrah,” continued he, haughtily interrogating Wood; “where is the person from whom you received this mantle?”

“Throttling a man isn’t the way to make him answer questions,” replied the carpenter, doggedly.  “You’ll get nothing out of me, I can promise you, unless you show a little more civility.”

“We waste time with this fellow,” interposed Sir Cecil, “and may lose the object of our quest, who, beyond doubt, has taken refuge in this building.  Let us search it.”

Just then, the infant began to sob piteously.

“Hist!” cried Rowland, arresting his comrade.  “Do you hear that!  We are not wholly at fault.  The dog-fox cannot be far off, since the cub is found.”

With these words, he tore the mantle from Wood’s back, and, perceiving the child, endeavoured to seize it.  In this attempt he was, however, foiled by the agility of the carpenter, who managed to retreat to the door, against which he placed his back, kicking the boards vigorously with his heel.

“Joan!  Joan!” vociferated he, “open the door, for God’s sake, or I shall be murdered, and so will your babby!  Open the door quickly, I say.”

“Knock him on the head,” thundered Sir Cecil, “or we shall have the watch upon us.”

“No fear of that,” rejoined Rowland:  “such vermin never dare to show themselves in this privileged district.  All we have to apprehend is a rescue.”

The hint was not lost upon Wood.  He tried to raise an outcry, but his throat was again forcibly griped by Rowland.

“Another such attempt,” said the latter, “and you are a dead man.  Yield up the babe, and I pledge my word you shall remain unmolested.”

“I will yield it to no one but its mother,” answered Wood.

“’Sdeath! do you trifle with me, sirrah?” cried Rowland fiercely.  “Give me the child, or—­”

As he spoke the door was thrown open, and Mrs. Sheppard staggered forward.  She looked paler than ever; but her countenance, though bewildered, did not exhibit the alarm which might naturally have been anticipated from the strange and perplexing scene presented to her view.

“Take it,” cried Wood, holding the infant towards her; “take it, and fly.”

Mrs. Sheppard put out her arms mechanically.  But before the child could be committed to her care, it was wrested from the carpenter by Rowland.

“These people are all in league with him,” cried the latter.  “But don’t wait for me, Sir Cecil.  Enter the house with your men.  I’ll dispose of the brat.”

This injunction was instantly obeyed.  The knight and his followers crossed the threshold, leaving one of the torch-bearers behind them.

“Davies,” said Rowland, delivering the babe, with a meaning look, to his attendant.

“I understand, Sir,” replied Davies, drawing a little aside.  And, setting down the link, he proceeded deliberately to untie his cravat.