Talking they were, as though they debated something, but after a while the sound of voices died away. When all was silent they hunted round the attic, but could find nothing that was unusual to such places. Peter looked at the window-hole, and, as it was large enough for a man to pass through, tried to drag one of the beds beneath it, thinking that if any such attempt were made, he who lay thereon would have the thief at his mercy, only to find, however, that these were screwed to the floor and immovable. As there was nothing more that they could do, they went and sat upon these beds, their bare swords in their hands, and waited a long while, but nothing happened. At length the lamp, which had been flickering feebly for some time, went out, lacking oil, and except for the light which crept through the window-place, for now they had torn away the sacking that hung over it, they were in darkness. A little while later they heard the sound of a horse’s hoofs, and the door of the house open and shut, after which there was more talking below, and mingling with it a new voice which Peter seemed to remember. “I have it,” he whispered to Castell. “Here is our late host, Father Henriques, come to see how his guests are faring.” Another half-hour and the waning moon rose, throwing a beam of light into their chamber; also they heard horse’s hoofs again. Going to the window, Peter looked out of it and saw the horse, a fine beast, being held by the landlord, then a man came and mounted it and, at some remark of his, turned his face upwards towards their window. It was that of Father Henriques. The two whispered together for a while till the priest blessed the landlord in Latin words and rode away, and again they heard the door of the house close. “He is off to Granada, to warn Morella his master of our coming,” said Castell, as they reseated themselves upon the beds. “To warn Morella that we shall never come, perhaps; but we will beat him yet,” replied Peter. The night wore on, and Castell, who was very weary, sank back upon the bolster and began to doze, when suddenly the chair that was set upon the trap-door fell over with a great clatter, and he sprang up, asking what that noise might be. “Only a rat,” answered Peter, who saw no good in telling him the truth—namely, that thieves or murderers had tried to open the trap-door. Then he crept down the room, felt the cord, to find that it was still uncut, and replaced the chair where it had been. This done, Peter came back to the bed and threw himself down upon it as though he would slumber, though never was he more wide awake. The weariness of Castell had overcome him again, however, for he snored at his side.