And with that he looked warily from the window, but speedily drew back, having seen in that brief moment, by a faint gleaming of the moon through a thinness of the clouds, a sentry that moved to and fro beneath, musket on shoulder. And when he had told me in the lowest whisper what he had seen, he said: "So it must needs be by the door." And as he spoke we heard the clatter of bar and chain below, telling that the enemy was admitted among us. So he would have leapt from the window to take his chance with the sentry, rather than he should be so found closeted with me. But I would not, and ran between him and the window, saying low and quick that I would call aloud if he persisted. And since he knew me and the manner of voice I used to threat the thing I would surely do (for my crying out in such case had made things no worse for him, but only full of shame for me that called), he yielded, asking me, What, then, should we do? Which before I could answer, I heard them striking upon a door in the same gallery where stood the room we were in, and the slumberous expostulation of Mr. Telgrove, who there inhabited. There was but one room between, and I felt our turn was near and that the bitterness of death must soon take hold on me unless I could think of a thing. And truly I think that never before, and but once since, did my mind think so many thoughts in so short a space and to so much purpose. Press, closet, and chimney--nay, even the space beneath the bed--were swiftly tried in my mind, and discarded as harborage too little secure to shelter what in all the world I did best love. But at last the thought came, and with it I was no longer a maid shaking at approach of danger, but a general with a device of strategy that should repel the invader. "Ned," I said, low and sharp, "will you do what I bid?" "Ay, sweetheart--mistress, I would say," he replied, and in all my passion of fear and purpose of action I marvelled, as I had done since he came under my window, why he would ever style me _mistress_.