"He has gone," she whispered to herself. "He has gone. He has overheard more strange matter and has deemed it well to set out on the instant. What an ending to our projects of a happy ride into that southern land of sunshine, to all that we had dreamt of being to each other for some weeks or months! To all our hopes of being so much together." Thinking, however, that, ere her lover had set out, as now she felt sure he must have done, he might by chance have left some carefully worded line for her, something that she should understand very well, though, should it chance to fall into the hands of others, it would to them be unintelligible, she lifted the latch of his door meaning to go in and see if, on some table or chair, and prominently in view, a billet might be lying. If that were not so, she would by one glance be able to discover through the disorder of the room--the absence of his riding cloak and feathered hat and rapier and pistols--whether he was definitely gone or only away for some little while. As she lifted the latch, however, while pressing on the catch under her thumb thereby to push open the door, she discovered that either the latter was locked or the bolt on the inside shot. "Locked or bolted!" the girl whispered, her face pale now and her breath coming fast and short. "Locked or bolted, and from the inside! And he there. There and silent--speechless. My God! what has happened to him? What?" Faint with fear of some horror she could not express, with some hideous apprehension of impending evil--nay, of evil that had already fallen; dreading _what_ might be in that room now, wondering if Humphrey had been discovered listening to those plotters in that other room and, in some way, reached, attacked and done to death, the girl leant helplessly against the door-post endeavouring to think what she should do next. Should she alarm the house, already awakened for the work of the day; cry to some _faquin_ or waiting woman passing up and down the stairs, or descend those stairs herself and summon the landlord to come and burst open the door? What--what should she do? Suddenly, however, another thought whirling in her brain, dispersing and driving forth those which had possessed that brain a moment earlier, brought ease to her. "He has not gone," she whispered to herself, the glow returning to her bosom that, an instant before, had felt like ice; "he cannot have gone. He has not discovered or overheard anything to cause him to set out for France. It must be so. He has descended, as madame supposed, to take steps for our journey, and, some of his effects being worth stealing, has locked his door and taken the key with him. Ah! yes. It must be so. Had he set forth, had he quitted this room for ever, he would not have locked the door after leaving nothing of his behind."