Here my Lord Sayle, who had remained like one entranced, staring up into the fiercely scornful eyes above him, succeeded in breaking the spell at last, and, roaring a savage curse, picked up the first thing to hand, which happened to be a snuff-box, and hurled it at his tormentor. But Sir John, ever watchful, avoided the missile, which, striking an inoffensive gentleman on the head, deluged him and those adjacent with snuff, a choking, blinding shower. Hereupon, clapping perfumed handkerchief to nostrils, Sir John took up the holly-stick, slipped his hand within Mr. Markham’s arm and sped from the room, leaving wild tumult and uproar behind. Upon the landing, while he paused to sheathe his sword, the imperturbable Robert took occasion to transfer the door-key from inside to out, and having locked the gasping, groaning, cursing sufferers securely in, followed his master downstairs. “Sir, how——” gasped Mr. Markham between his sneezes. “Sir John, how may I ... a-tish ... express my depths of—gratitude?” “By hastening back to her who will be growing anxious for you, sir——” “Aye, I will—I will, sir!” cried Mr. Markham. “You see, sir, she ... I ... we are hoping ... expecting ... a-tisha! ... d’you understand, Sir John?” “And give ye joy o’ the event, Mr. Markham. My heartiest congratulations and best ... asha!” Here Sir John sneezed violently in turn. “My best—aho—wishes for you and her and—it, sir!” “Sir John,” quoth Mr. Markham, grasping his hand, “should it be ... a-tish! ... a boy, sir, one of his names, if you’ll permit, shall be ... a-hoosh! ... John, sir!” “Mr. Markham, I ... I feel myself extreme ... shassho ... honoured, sir. My felicitations to your lady, and good-bye!” “Robert,” quoth Sir John, when his sneezing had somewhat abated, “they seem to be making a confounded disturbance upstairs! What’s that hammering, I wonder?” “Gentlemen a-trying to get out, I opine, sir!” “To get out, Bob?” “Precisely, sir. You see, I happened to lock ’em in, your honour.” “Oh, did you, egad? Then we’d best be off and away before they break out. Are the horses ready?” “All ready, sir—this way!” So presently, having mounted in the yard, they rode off along the busy street and, winning clear of the traffic, set spurs to their spirited animals and had soon left the historic town of Lewes behind them. Yet often Sir John must turn to view this ancient town, seeming to drowse in the afternoon’s heat, its many-hued roofs of tile and thatch topped here and there by grey church spires; and over all the castle, with its embattled walls and towers, its mighty keep rising in grim majesty, hoary with age but glorious in decay. CHAPTER XXI OF GEORGE POTTER, HIS WHISTLE “Regarding Mr. Sturton,” said Sir John, reining his horse to a walk when the old town had sunk from view behind them, “you perfectly understand, Robert, that I wish to give him sufficient rope to very thoroughly hang himself?” “Pre-cisely, sir!”