"
The men shrank from the deadly menace of that gentle voice.
"Hold!" said one of them, peering through the darkness, "is it not
Squire Loring of Tilford?"
"That is indeed my name."
"Had you spoken it I for one would not have stopped your way. Put
down your staff, Wat, for this is no stranger, but the Squire of
Tilford."
"As well for him," grumbled the other, lowering his cudgel with an
inward prayer of thanksgiving. "Had it been otherwise I should
have had blood upon my soul to-night. But our master said nothing
of neighbors when he ordered us to hold the door. I will enter
and ask him what is his will."
But already Nigel was past them and had pushed open the outer
door. Swift as he was, the Lady Mary was at his very heels, and
the two passed together into the hall beyond.
It was a great room, draped and curtained with black shadows, with
one vivid circle of light in the center, where two oil lamps shone
upon a small table. A meal was laid upon the table, but only two
were seated at it, and there were no servants in the room. At the
near end was Edith, her golden hair loose and streaming down over
the scarlet and black of her riding-dress.
At the farther end the light beat strongly upon the harsh face and
the high-drawn misshapen shoulders of the lord of the house. A
tangle of black hair surmounted a high rounded forehead, the
forehead of a thinker, with two deep-set cold gray eyes twinkling
sharply from under tufted brows.
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