She spoke in jest, and certainly did not give the matter another thought, but the exchange had made an impression on Eustacie’s mind, and for the rest of the day she could scarcely bear to let Ludovic out of her sight. When Sir Tristram had gone, and Miss Thane proposed they should take their usual morning walk, she refused with such resolution that Miss Thane forbore to press the matter, but went out with her brother, leaving Eustacie keeping guard over Ludovic like a cat with one kitten.

As the day drew towards evening Eustacie’s fears became more pronounced. When the candles were lit and the blinds drawn, she persisted in hearing footsteps, and fancying some stranger to have got into the inn. She confided in Miss Thane that she was sure there was someone in the house, hiding, and insisted, in spite of his protestations that no one could have entered without his knowledge, upon Nye’s searching every nook and cranny. The house was an old and rambling one, and the boards creaked a good deal. Miss Thane, when Eustacie held up her finger for the fifth time, enjoining silence that she might listen for a fancied noise, said roundly: “A little more, and I shall be quite unable to sleep a wink all night. Now what’s amiss?”

Eustacie, drawing the curtains more closely across window, said: “There was just a crack. Someone might look in and see Ludovic. I think it will be better if I pin the curtains together.”

Sir Hugh, who was engaged upon his nightly game of piquet with Ludovic, became aware of her restlessness, and turned to look at her. “Ah!” he said. “So you don’t like the moonshine either! It’s a queer thing, but if ever I have a bad dream you may depend upon it the moon’s up. There’s another thing, too: if ever it gets into my room it wakes me. I’m glad to meet someone else who feels the same.”

No one thought it worth while to explain Eustacie’s real motive to him, so after recounting various incidents illustrative of the baneful effect of the moon upon human beings, he returned to his game, and speedily became oblivious of Eustacie’s fidgets.

Since Eustacie could not bring herself to go up to bed leaving Ludovic, quite heedless of danger, below-stairs, the piquet came to an early end, and the whole party went up to bed soon after ten o’clock. Having assured herself that the windows in Ludovic’s room were securely fastened and his pistols loaded and under his pillow, Eustacie at last consented, though reluctantly, to seek her own couch. Ludovic took her in his sound arm, and kissed her, and laughed at her fears. She said seriously: “But I am afraid. I love you so much that it seems to me very probable that you will be taken away from me. Promise me that you will lock your door and draw the bolts!”

He laid his cheek against her hair. “I’ll promise anything, sweetheart. Don’t trouble your pretty head over me! I’m not worth it.”

“To me, you are.”

“I wish I had two arms!” he sighed. “Do you know that you are marrying a ne’er-do-well?”

“Certainly I know it. It is just what I always wanted,” she replied.

Miss Thane came along the passage at this moment and put an end to their tête-à-tête. She quite agreed with Eustacie that Ludovic must lock his door. She had every intention, she said, of locking her own. She bore Eustacie off to her room, stayed with her till she was safely tucked up in bed, turned the lamp down, made up the fire, and went away wondering whether there really might be something to fear, or whether they had allowed their fancy to run riot. This problem kept her awake for some time, but after a couple of hours spent in straining her ears to catch the sound of a footfall she did at last fall asleep, lulled by the monotonous rise and fall of her brother’s snores, drifting to her ears from across the passage.

At one o’clock these ceased abruptly. The moon had reached a point in the heavens from which its rays were able to find out a chink between the blinds over Sir Hugh’s window. A sliver of silver light stole across his face. Its baleful influence was instantly felt. Sir Hugh awoke.

He knew at once what had roused him, and with a muttered curse, got up out of bed and stalked over to the window. A tug at the blind failed to put matters right, and Sir Hugh, blinking with sleep, perceived that a fold of the chintz had been caught in the hinge when the casement was shut. “Damned carelessness!” he said severely, and opened the window to release the blind.

There was a smart wind blowing; a sudden gust tore the casement out of his slack hold, and flung it wide. He leaned out to pull it to again, and as he did so noticed that one of the windows in the coffee-room directly beneath his bedchamber was also standing wide. It seemed to him unusual and undesirable that windows should be left open all night, and after regarding it for a moment or two with slightly somnolent disapproval, he drew in his head, turned up the wick of the lamp that stood by his bed, and lit a candle at its flame. Yawning, he groped his way into his dressing-gown, and then, picking up the candlestick and treading softly for fear of waking the rest of the household, sallied forth to rectify Nye’s omission.

He went carefully down the steep stairs, shading the flame of the candle from the draught. As he reached the bend in the staircase, and rounded it, he caught the glow of a light, suddenly extinguished, and knew there was someone in the coffee-room.

Sir Hugh might be of a naturally indolent disposition, but he had a rooted objection to fellows nefariously creeping about the house. He reached the bottom of the stairs with most surprising celerity, and, holding up the candle, looked keenly round the room.

A figure loomed up for an instant out of the darkness; he had a glimpse of a man with a mask over his face, and a dagger in his hand, and the next moment the candle was struck from his hold.

Sir Hugh launched himself forward, grappling with the unknown marauder. His right hand encountered something that felt like a neckcloth, and grasped it, just as the hilt of the dagger crashed down upon his shoulder, missing his head by a hair’s breadth. Before the unknown could strike again he had grabbed at the dagger hand, and found it, twisting it unmercifully. The dagger fell; and Sir Hugh’s grip slackened a little. The masked man, putting forth every ounce of strength, tore himself free, and made a dart for the window. Sir Hugh plunged after him, tripped over a stool, and came down on his hands and knees with a crash. The intruder was visible for a brief moment in the shaft of moonlight; before Sir Hugh could pick himself up he had vanished through the window.

Chapter Thirteen

Sir Hugh swore, and got up. The noise of his fall seemed to have penetrated to the rooms above, for a door was opened, footsteps were heard flying along the passage towards his bedchamber, and Eustacie’s voice sounded, begging the landlord to wake up and come at once.

“It’s only I!” called Sir Hugh, tenderly massaging his grazed shinbone. “Don’t start screeching, for the lord’s sake! Bring me a light.”

Another door opened; Miss Thane’s voice said: “What was that? I thought I heard a crash!”

“I dare say you did,” returned her brother. “I fell over a demmed stool. Send that scoundrel Nye down here. I’ve a bone to pick with him.”

“Good gracious, Hugh!” exclaimed Miss Thane venturing halfway down the stairs, and holding up a candle. “What in the world are you doing there? You do not know what a fright you put me into!”

“Never mind that,” said Sir Hugh testily. “What I want is a light.”

“My dear, you sound very cross,” said Miss Thane, coming down the remainder of the stairs, and setting her candlestick on the table. “Why are you here?” She caught sight of the curtain half drawn back from the windows, and the casement swinging wide, and said quickly: “Who opened that window?”

“Just what I want to ask Nye,” replied Sir Hugh. “The moon woke me, and I chanced to look out of my own window and saw this one open. I came down, and I’d no sooner got to the bottom of the stairs than a demmed fellow in a loo-mask knocked the candle out of my hand and tried to hit me on the head. No, it’s no use looking round for him: he’s gone, thanks to Nye leaving stools strewn about all over the floor.”

Eustacie, who had come downstairs with Nye, gave a sob of fright, and stared at Miss Thane. “He did come!” she said. “Ludovic! “ She turned on the word, and fled upstairs, calling: “Ludovic, Ludovic, are you safe?”

Sir Hugh looked after her in somewhat irritated surprise. “French! “ he said. “All alike! What the devil does she want to fly into a pucker for?”

Nye had gone over to the window and was leaning out. He turned and said: “The shutter’s been wrenched off its hinge, and a pane of glass cut out clean as a whistle. That’s where he must have put his hand in to open the window. You didn’t get a sight of his face, sir?”

“No, I didn’t,” replied Sir Hugh, stooping to pick up the dagger at his feet. “I keep telling you he wore a mask. A loo-mask! If there’s one thing above others that I hate it’s a lot of demmed theatrical nonsense! What was the fellow playing at? Highwaymen?”

“Perhaps,” suggested Miss Thane tactfully, “he did not wish to run the risk of being recognized.”

“I dare say he didn’t, and it’s my belief,” said Sir Hugh, bending a severe frown upon her, “that you know who he was, Sally. It has seemed to me all along that there’s a deal going on here which is devilish unusual.”

“Yes, dear,” said Miss Thane, with becoming meekness. “I think your masked man was Ludovic’s wicked cousin come to murder him with that horrid-looking knife you have in your hand.”