“Ay,” said Gervase pausing, “it is proposed to make use of the prisoners we have taken, and, indeed, that is the reason I am here to-night. The Vicomte must quit your house and take up his abode in the guard-house, but I trust not for long.” “They will not injure him?” “I hope not, and I do not think you need fear for him. My lord Netterville hath writ to De Rosen, who is surely a devil, to tell him how it stands with himself and the other prisoners, and I do not doubt his letter will move him more than the voice of humanity, assisted as it is by the gallows we have now erected.” “There is nothing but horror on horror,” said Dorothy. “It is just, but it is hard to bear. And I think I could bear it all but for the great trouble I told you of--but why should I thrust my own private griefs on a stranger?” “Nay, no stranger; your troubles are all mine. You know that I love you better than my life.” A moment before he would not have ventured to make this speech, but something in her voice had for the first time awakened a wild hope in his breast. She looked at him with a frank and honest look. “Yes,” she answered, “I think you love me better than I deserve, but this is no time to talk or think of such things.” “But, Dorothy--” “Nay, I will not have a word. Listen! Oh God! what is that? They have quarrelled, and that is the sound of swords.” The clash of steel could be heard plainly, and the sound of feet moving rapidly. “Remain where you are,” said Gervase, hastening down the passage; “I shall prevent this.” Dorothy stood at the foot of the passage, her hands held tightly against her breast; the taper had fallen to the floor, and she was in darkness. Then she heard the voice of Gervase at the door. “Out of my way or I will run you through; I must enter.” “By your leave you shall not. My master must fight this out; I´ve taught him to fence, and I´ll see that he gets fair play.” It was the voice of Swartz. Gervase had found the man at the door listening to the sound of the strife within. “Out of my way,” said Gervase, losing his temper. “Damn you! I tell you I shall not stir. The Frenchman hath robbed my master and he´ll pay dearly for it to-night. No man in Londonderry will pass the door till he hath settled with that thief.” Gervase was in no humour for temporizing at this moment. He caught the old servant by the throat and with a quick movement hurled him to the other side of the passage. Then placing his shoulder against the door and exerting all his strength, the strong framework fell in with a crash. The room was in complete darkness and he stood to listen. There was not a sound. Then Dorothy came down the passage with a light.