And both men began to walk more rapidly in the direction whence had come the woman's scream. The next few moments brought them upon the scene, and soon in the gloom they distinguished the figure of the old watchman apparently struggling with a woman, whose head and shoulders were enveloped in some sort of veil or hood. The lanthorn, evidently violently thrown on the ground, had rolled down the path some little distance from this group. The woman was making obvious and frantic efforts to get away, whilst the old watchman exerted all his strength to keep tight hold of her wrists. "What is it to thee, man, what I am doing here?" the woman gasped in the midst of her struggles. "Let me go, I say!" She was evidently not very strong, for the old watchman, shrivelled and shrunken though he was, had already mastered her. She had lost her balance, and was soon down on her knees. With a vigorous wrench the man contrived to force her arms behind her back; he held them there with one hand, and with the other was groping in his wallet for a length of rope. "Not before thou hast given a good account of thyself before the Duchess of Lincoln, my wench!" he said, as he threw the rope round her shoulders and very dexterously contrived to pinion her arms behind her. "Her Grace?" she murmured contemptuously. "I have naught to do with Her Grace. . . . Let me go, man; thou hast no right to tie me thus." "Now then, my girl, get up, will ye? and come along quietly with me. . . . I'll not hurt ye . . . if ye come along quietly." The man helped her to struggle to her feet. Her veil or cloak had evidently fallen from her head, for the Cardinal and Lord Everingham, who were silently, and with no small measure of curiosity, watching the strange spectacle, caught the glint of a woman's face and of bright golden hair. The watchman was trying to lead her away towards the Palace. "Let me go, I tell thee," muttered the girl with persistent obstinacy. "I have important business here, and . . ." But the old man laughed derisively. "Important business? . . . and prithee with whom, wench?" "With the Duke of Wessex . . ." she retorted after a slight hesitation, "There! . . . now wilt let me go?" But the watchman laughed more immoderately than before. "Oho! . . . ho! ho! ho! that's a likely tale, my wench, there's many a young woman has business with His Grace, I'll warrant. . . . But thou'st best tell that tale to the Duchess of Lincoln first. . . . Business with the Duke of Wessex . . . ha! ha! ha! . . ." "My friend," here interposed a gentle, very urbane voice, "meseems thy zeal somewhat outruns thy discretion. If this child has indeed business with the Duke of Wessex, His Grace might prefer that thou shouldst keep a quieter tongue in thy head." The Cardinal, at sound of the Duke's name, had gradually drawn nearer to the group. Lord Everingham, impelled by the same natural curiosity, had followed him.