’What is that to thee?  Open the gate.  And make haste.  If it please my lord that I ride thus to escape eyes that else might see further than thine, keen as they are, master Eccles, it is nothing to thee.’

The lock clanged, the gate swung open, and Richard rode through.

By this time a process of doubt and reasoning, rapid as only thought can be, had produced in the mind of Dorothy the conviction that there was something wrong.  By what authority was Richard riding from Raglan with muffled hoofs between midnight and morning?  His speech to the marquis was plainly a pretence, and doubtless that to Eccles was equally false.  To allow him to pass unchallenged would be treason against both her host and her king.

‘Eccles!  Eccles!’ she cried, her voice ringing clear through the court, ‘let not that man pass.’

‘He gave the word, mistress,’ said Eccles, in dull response.

‘Stop him, I say,’ cried Dorothy again, with energy almost frantic, as she heard the gate swing to heavily.  ’Thou shalt be held to account.’

‘He gave the word.’

‘He’s a true man, mistress,’ returned Eccles, in tone of self-justification.  ’Heard you not my lord marquis give him his last orders from his window?’

‘There was no marquis at the window.  Stop him, I say.’

‘He’s gone,’ said Eccles quietly, but with waking uneasiness.

‘Run after him,’ Dorothy almost screamed.

’Stop him at the gate.  It is young Heywood of Redware, one of the busiest of the round-heads.’

Eccles was already running and shouting and whistling.  She heard his feet resounding from the bridge.  With trembling hands she flung a cloak about her, and sped bare-footed down the grand staircase and along the north side of the court to the bell-tower, where she seized the rope of the alarm-bell, and pulled with all her strength.  A horrid clangour tore the stillness of the night, re-echoed with yelping response from the multitudinous buildings around.  Window after window flew open, head after head was popped out—­amongst the first that of the marquis, shouting to know what was amiss.  But the question found no answer.  The courts began to fill.  Some said the castle was on fire; others, that the wild beasts were all out; others, that Waller and Cromwell had scaled the rampart, and were now storming the gates; others, that Eccles had turned traitor and admitted the enemy.  In a few moments all was outcry and confusion.  Both courts and the great hall were swarming with men and women and children, in every possible stage of attire.  The main entrance was crowded with a tumult of soldiery, and scouts were rushing to different stations of outlook, when the cry reached them that the western gate was open, the portcullis up, and the guard gone.