Outside the chamber the corridor was very dark and still, so that the least creak of a board was appallingly loud, but there was no other noise, save the faint sound of a girl’s singing in the kitchen below. Down the corridor they passed what seemed immeasurable lengths, till Hugh’s knees ached with the slow step, step, to a point where he felt for sheer nervousness he must stamp or shout or do something foolish. Then he heard the faint squeak of a door, as Strangwayes, a black figure in the dusk, swung it gently ajar, and he stepped cautiously into a loft, where a square of fainter darkness at the left showed a window was cut. After a moment he found it lighter here than in the corridor, so, groping with more confidence, he was presently at Strangwayes’ heels. Right below he heard the muffled voice still singing words that were undistinguishable. “That’s a rare wench,” Strangwayes just breathed. “And here’s the hole into the stable loft. Count sixty ere you follow, or you’ll be putting your heels through my skull.” A long sixty it was, but Hugh counted ten more to be certain, then, crawling through a low window that bruised his head, hung an instant by his hands, while he wondered how far it was to fall. Just there Strangwayes put his arms about him and rolled him over into a pile of hay. “Not above a foot to drop, Hugh,” he whispered, with a suppressed chuckle, “but an inch is as bad as a mile in the dark. For the rest of the way I am sure; I used my eyes this afternoon.” They quickly slid down from the hay-loft to the floor of the barn, and as they went Hugh found time, perilous though the moment was, to feel half shamed that Strangwayes was taking such care of him, as if he were a little boy. The lighter square of the opening guided them to the stable door, where Strangwayes caught Hugh’s arm. “Briskly now; they may be spying from the gate. But softly.” Hugh fairly held his breath in the three quick paces across the corner of the courtyard till he found the grateful, pitchy darkness of a shed around him. He smelt the freshness of new litter, heard it rustle about his ankles, and then Strangwayes pulled him down beside him amidst trusses of straw. “You understand, Hugh,” he whispered, “if we stayed in the stable these knaves of troopers might mistake us for hay, when they came to feed their horses, and the mistake would grieve us all. Now here in the shed we can lie close till they leave the stable under guard of a man or two, and then we will follow the fundamental maxim of warfare and supply ourselves from the enemy. Unless they come first to rouse us in our beds. Look you, Hugh, yonder, that little light, is our chamber. There, it has gone out,” he added presently. “Now, when next we see a light in that room, we’ll know they have gone thither and discovered our removal, and we must be up and doing.”