"What of Robert? How will he escape?"
"If you escape they will have nothing against Robert; for they can prove
nothing as to your priesthood. But if they catch you here--and they
certainly will, if you remain here--they will probably hang him, for he
fought for you gallantly in the house. And he too will have time to run.
He can run through the door into the meadows. But they will not care for
him if they know you are off."
Again silence.
"Well?" whispered Mr. Buxton.
"Do you wish it?"
"I think it is the only hope."
"Then I will do it."
"Thank God! And now you must come up with me. Put off your shoes."
"I have none."
"Then follow, and do not make a sound."
* * * *
Very cautiously Mr. Buxton extricated himself; for he had been lying on
his side while he whispered to Anthony; and presently was crouched on the
stairs above, as he heard the stirrings of his friend in the dark below
him. There came the click of the brickwork door; then slow shufflings;
once a thump on the hollow boards that made his heart leap; then after
what seemed an interminable while, came the sound of latching the fifth
stair into its place; and he felt his foot grasped. Then he turned and
ascended slowly on hands and knees, feeling now and again for the
trap-door over him--touched it--raised it, and crawled out on to the
rugs. The room seemed to him comparatively light after the heavy darkness
of the basement, and passage below, and he could make out the
supper-table and the outline of the targets on the opposite wall.
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