ap beside it. There were half a dozen men guarding the four
doors; but the rest were gone; and from overhead came tramplings and
shouts as the hunt swept to and fro in the upper floors.

At the top of the stairs was Mary's room; the two ladies, who had gone
silently upstairs with Hubert behind them, stopped at the door of it.

"Here, if you please," said Mary.

Before Hubert could answer, Lackington came down the passage, hurrying
with a drawn sword, and his hat on his head. Isabel did not recognise him
as he stopped and tapped Hubert on the arm familiarly.

"The prisoners must not be together," he said.

Hubert drew back his arm and looked the man in the face.

"They are not prisoners; and they shall be together. Take off your hat,
sir."

Then, as Lackington drew back astonished, he opened the door.

"You shall not be disturbed here," he said, and the two went in, and the
door closed behind them. There was a murmur of voices outside the door,
and they heard a name called once or twice, and the sound of footsteps.
Then came a tap, and Hubert stepped in quietly and closed the door.

"I have placed my own man outside," he said, "and none shall trouble
you--and--Mistress Isabel--I will do my best." Then he bowed and went
out.

* * * *

The long miserable afternoon began. They watched through the windows the
sentries going up and down the broad paths between the glowing
flower-beds; and out, over the high iron fence that separated the garden
from the meadows, the crowd of villagers and children watching.

But the real terror for them both lay in the sounds that came from the
interior of the house. There was a continual tramp of the sentries placed
in every corridor and lobby, and of the messengers that went to and fro.
Then from room after room came the sounds of blows, the rending of
woodwork, and once or twice the crash of glass, as the searchers went
about their work; and at every shout the women shuddered or drew their
breath sharply, for any one of the noises might be the sign of Anthony's
arrest.

The two had soon talked out every theory in low voices, but they both
agreed that he was still in the house somewhere, and on the upper floor.
It was impossible, they thought, for him to have made his way down. There
were four possibilities, therefore: either he might still be in the
chimney--in that case it was no use hoping; or he was in the chapel-hole;
or in th