Giving Baldwin the order, and bidding him as soon as it was performed come to him, the knight walked steadily back into the courtyard and took his stand there. He dispatched the women and some of the servants to lay out a meal in the hall. But it was noticeable that the men went reluctantly, and that all who could find any excuse to do so lingered round Sir Anthony as if they could not bear to abandon him; as if, even at the last moment, they had some vague notion of protecting their master at all hazards. A score of lanterns shed a gloomy, uncertain light--only in places reinforced by the glow, from the hall windows--upon the group. Seldom had a Coton moon peeped over the gables at a scene stranger than that which met the sheriff's eyes, as with his two backers he passed under the gateway. "I surrender to you, Sir Philip," the knight said with dignity, stepping forward a pace or two, "and call you to witness that I might have made resistance and have not. My tenants are quiet in their homes, and only my servants are present. Father Carey is not here, nor in the house. This is Baldwin Moor, my steward, but I beg for him your especial offices, since he has done nothing save by my command." "Sir Anthony, believe me that I will do all I can," the sheriff responded gravely, "but----" "But to set at naught the Queen's proclamation and order!" struck in a third voice harshly--it was Sir Thomas Greville's--"and she but a month on the throne! For shame, Sir Anthony! It smacks to me of high treason. And many a man has suffered for less, let me tell you." "Had she been longer on the throne," the sheriff put in more gently, "and were the times quiet, the matter would have been of less moment, Sir Anthony, and might not have become a state matter. But just now----" "Things are in a perilous condition," Greville said bluntly, "and you have done your little to make them worse!" The knight by a great effort swallowed his rage and humiliation. "What will you do with me, gentlemen?" he asked, speaking with at least the appearance of calmness. "That is to be seen," Greville said, roughly over-riding his companion. "For to-night we must make ourselves and our men comfortable here." "Certainly--with Sir Anthony's leave, Sir Thomas Greville," quoth a voice from behind. "But only so!" More than one started violently, while the Cludde servants almost to a man spun round at the sound of the voice--my voice, Francis Cludde's, though in the darknesss no one knew me. How shall I ever forget the joy and lively gratitude which filled my heart as I spoke; which turned the night into day, and that fantastic scene of shadows into a festival, as I felt that the ambition of the last four years was about to be gratified. Sir Anthony, who was one of the first to turn, peered among the servants. "Who spoke?" he cried, a sudden discomposure in his voice and manner. "Who spoke there?"