one, and one searching would instantly detect him; but he had no fear of a search, for he doubted not that the cook, on missing him, would suppose that he had left at once, intending to call for his money and basket together the next morning.  It was already growing dusk, and should no one enter the room for another half hour he would be hidden in the shadow in the corner of the room; but it was more probable still that no one would enter.

The time passed slowly on, and the darkness rapidly increased.  Through the door, which Cluny had drawn to but had not tightly closed on entering, he could hear the voices of the servants as they moved about and completed the preparations in the banquet hall.  Presently all was quiet, but a faint light gleaming in through the crack of the door showed that the lights were lit and that all was in readiness for the banquet.  Half an hour later and there was a heavy trampling of feet and the sound of many voices.  The door was suddenly closed, and Cluny had no doubt that the dinner was beginning.  Rising to his feet he made to the door and listened attentively.

A confused din met his ears, but no distinct words were audible.  He could occasionally faintly hear the clattering of plates and the clinking of glasses.  All this continued for nigh two hours, and then a sudden quiet seemed to fall upon the assembly.  Cluny heard the door close, and guessed that the banquet was at an end and the servitors dismissed.  Now, if ever, would something of importance be said within, and Cluny would have given his life to be able to hear it.  Many times he thought of turning the handle and opening the door an inch or two.  Locks in those days were but roughly made; the slightest sound might attract attention, and in that case not only would his own life be forfeited, but no news of the governor’s intentions —­ no matter what they might be —­ could reach Wallace; so, almost holding his breath, he lay on the ground and listened with his ear to the sill of the door.  The silence was succeeded by a steady monotonous sound as of one addressing the others.  Cluny groaned in spirit, for no word could he hear.  After some minutes the murmur ceased, and then many voices were raised together; then one rose above the rest, and then, distinct and clear, came a voice evidently raised in anger.

“As you please, Master Hawkins; but if you disobey my orders, as King Edward’s governor here, you will take the consequences.  I shall at once place you in durance, and shall send report to the king of your mutinous conduct.”

“Be that as it may,” another voice replied; “whatever befall me, I tell you, sir, that Thomas Hawkins will take no part in an act of such foul and dastardly treachery.  I am a soldier of King Edward.  I am paid to draw my sword against his enemies, and not to do the bloody work of a murderer.”

“Seize him!” the governor shouted.  “Give him in charge to the guard, to lay in the castle dungeon.”