Even as he spoke the hurried words, he had begun himself to toss goose and pasty into the basket and to stuff a brace of the long flagons securely in the interstices. There was a stir overhead; the household was awaking. “Monseigneur,” cried Marcelin, on an inspiration, “no time for niceties! If monseigneur will take one end of the cloth, I will take the other. We can carry the victualling wholesale into the garden and there advise about packing—Madam will see to the bloody basin, no doubt?” Upon these words, with all presence of mind, the valet ransacked the dresser of everything it bore in the shape of good cheer, cakes and ham, brawn and an eel pie, and many flagons (not forgetting the square-faced bottle), and made a pile of the booty upon the table. Obedient to his suggestion, the hostess had tripped out to fling the contents of the basin upon a flower bed. She came back in a trice, found Marcelin already loaded with the weighty, strangely bulging bag, and with fervent words of thanks held the door open for him. Rockhurst meanwhile was gaily blowing out candle after candle of the hanging crown. Ponderous footsteps descending the stairs proclaimed that the porter was at length aroused. “One light for you, madam,” said Rockhurst; “you are just in time!” He thrust the last unextinguished taper into her hand; then, his arm round her waist, bending his height to her small stature, drew her toward the door: “Good-by,” he said, “sweet hostess. Another time choose more wisely both your hour and your cavalier.” She turned her soft, childish face with a little sob up toward him. And with a sudden stirring of the heart, as toward a winsome child, he bent and kissed her. “I shall never forget how you have saved me, this night!” she said, her lips upon his. At which Rockhurst kissed her again to conceal his amusement. The sound of a bar grating reluctantly in its socket rang the urgency of parting. Yet, she clutched him. “You said you were poor and hungry, like him … like him who fled,” she panted. “I had saved this for him: I had rather you had it.” She thrust a small velvet bag into his hand, one second more pressed clingingly against him, and the next instant was flying light-footed away. There came a sound of a growling voice; at which Rockhurst in all celerity flung his cloak over his shoulders and withdrew, closing the outer door noiselessly behind him. Marcelin’s lantern flashed one ray of guidance: yonder the gate and the end of the adventure.