It was Throckmorton! The distant light glinted along his beard. At the slight movement she made he was agog to listen, so that his ears appeared to be pricked up. He moved swiftly back to cover the stairhead. In the distance, beneath the light, the groom was laying cards upon the floor between his parted legs. Throckmorton whispered suddenly: 'I can hear thee breathe. Art near! Listen!' She leant back against the wall and trembled. 'This seems like a treachery,' he whispered. 'It is none. Listen? There is little time! Do you hear me?' She kept her peace. 'Do you hear me?' he asked. 'Before God, I am true to you.' When still she did not speak he hissed with vexation and raised one hand above his head. He sank his forehead in swift meditation. 'Listen,' he said again. 'To take you I have only to tear down this arras. Do you hear?' He bared his head once more and said aloud to himself, 'But perhaps she is even in the chapel.' He stepped across the corridor, lifted a latch and looked in at double doors that were just beside her. Then, swiftly, he moved back once more to cover the stairhead. 'God! God! God!' she heard him mutter between his teeth. 'Listen!' he said again. 'Listen! listen! listen!' The words seemed to form part of an eager, hissed refrain. He was trembling with haste. He began to press the arras, along the wall towards her, with his finger tips. Her breast sank with a sickening fall. Then, suddenly, he started back again; she could not understand why he did not come further--then she noticed that he was afraid, still, to leave the stairhead. But why did he not call his men to him? He had a whole army at his back. He was peering into the shadows--and something familiar in the poise of his head, his intent gaze, the line of his shoulders, as you may see a cat's outlined against a lighted doorway, filled her with an intense lust for revenge. This man had wormed himself into her presence: he was a traitor over and over again. And he had fooled her! He had made her believe that he was lover to her. He had made her believe, and he had fooled her. He had shown her letter to Privy Seal. After the night in the cellar she had had the end of her crucifix sharpened till it was needle-pointed. She trembled with eagerness. This foul carrion beast had fooled her that he might get her more utterly in his power. For this he had brought her down. He would have her to himself--in some dungeon of Privy Seal's. Her fair hopes ended in this filth.... He was muttering: 'Listen if you be there! Before God, Katharine Howard, I am true to you. Listen! Listen!' His hand shivered, turned against the light. He was hearkening to some distant sound. He was looking away. She tore the arras aside and sprang at him with her hand on high. But, at the sharp sound of the tearing cloth, he started to one side and the needle point that should have pierced his face struck softly in at his shoulder or thereabouts. He gave a sharp hiss of pain....