"May I examine them, Rebecca?"

"I will even draw you a pint of cider," says Rebecca evasively, with
great trepidation, "but come back soon," she called, tripping off to
the wine-cellar door.

Snatching the keys, I was down the steps at a leap.

"The large one for the gate, Jack! The brass one for the big door, and
the cell unbolts!"

"Ease your helm, sonny!" says Jack, catching the bunch from my clasp.
"Fall-back--fall-edge!" he laughed in that awful mockery of the
axeman's block. "Fall-back--fall-edge! If there's any hacking of
necks, mine is thicker than yours! I'll run the risks. Do you wait
here in shadow."

And he darted away. The gate creaked as it gave.

Then I waited for what seemed eternity.

A night-watchman shuffled along with swinging lantern, calling out:
"What ho? What ho?" Townsfolks rode through the streets with a
clatter of the chairmen's feet; but no words were bandied by the
fellows, for a Sabbath hush lay over the night. A great hackney-coach
nigh mired in mud as it lumbered through mid-road. And M. Picot's
hound came sniffing hungrily to me.

A glare of light shot aslant the dark. Softly the door of Rebecca's