wait for my report, pulled myself over the sill and dropped softly
into the gallery.

And then somebody stepped quickly from behind the heavy window
curtain, reached out, shut the lattice smartly behind me, and said
composedly--

"Show a light, Jenkins, and let us have a look at the gentleman."

Though it concerned my neck, I was taken too quickly aback to stir;
but stood like a stuck pig, while the butler fumbled with his
tinder-box.

"Light _all_ the candles!"

"If it please you, Sir Harry," Jenkins answered, puffing at the
tinder.

The first thing I saw by the blue light of the brimstone match was
the barrel of old Sir Harry's pistol glimmering about six inches from
my nose. On my left stood a long-legged footman, also with a pistol.
But all this, though discomposing, was no more than I had begun to
expect. What really startled me, as old Jenkins lit the candles, was
the sight of two women standing a few paces off, beneath a tall
picture of a gentleman with a big lace collar. One of them, a short
woman with a bunchy shape, I recognised for the housekeeper.
The other I guessed as quickly to be Sir Harry's daughter, Mistress
Kate--a tall and slender young lady, dark-haired, and handsome as any
man could wish. She was wrapped in a long travelling-cloak, the hood
of which fell a little off her shoulders, allowing a glimpse of white