after it for full
two minutes, and had she heard no more she would have surely forgotten
she had heard aught, or would have believed herself but the victim of
fancy. But after the long pause the same sound came again, though this
time it was slighter; yet, despite its slightness, it seemed to her to be
the crushing of the earth and stone beneath a cautious foot. It was a
foot so cautious that it was surely stealthy and scarce dared to advance
at all. And then all was still again. She was for a moment overcome
with fears, not being of a courageous temper, and having heard, but of
late, of a bold gipsy vagabond who, with a companion, had broken into the
lower rooms of a house of the neighbourhood, and being surprised by its
owner, had only been overcome and captured after a desperate fight, in
which shots were exchanged, and one of the hurriedly-awakened servants
killed. So she leaned forward to hearken further, wondering what she
should do to best alarm the house, and, as she bent so, she heard the
sound again and a smothered oath, and with her straining eyes saw that
surely upon the path there stood a dark-draped figure. She rose with
great care to her feet, and stood a moment shaking and clinging to the
window-ledge, while she bethought her of what servants she could wake
first, and how she could reach her father's room. Her poor heart beat in
her side, and her breath came quickly. The soundlessness of the night
was broken by one of the strange sudden gusts of wind which tossed the
trees, and tore at the clouds as they hurried. She heard the footsteps
again, as if it feared its own sound the less when the wind might cover
it. A faint pale gleam showed between two dark clouds behind which the
moon had been hidden; it grew brighter, and a jagged rent was torn, so
that the moon herself for a second or so shone out dazzling bright before
the clouds rushed over her again and shut her in.

It was at this very instant Mistress Anne heard the footsteps once more,
and saw full well a figure in dark cloak and hat which stepped quickly
into the shade of a great tree. But more she saw--and clapped her hand
upon her mouth to stifle the cry that would have otherwise risen in spite
of her--that notwithstanding his fair locks were thrust out of sight
beneath his hat, and he looked strange and almost uncomely, it was the
face of Sir John Oxon, the moon, bursting through the jagged clouds, had
shone upon.

CHAPTER VII