The gaol buildings and yard showed dim in the diffused light. A cluster of small clouds clung to the face of the moon, and down in the west lay a grey bank which rose imperceptibly, its edges caught by the hidden glow. From time to time a cat's-paw of wind tapped the branches in Mistress Keziah's garden, breaking the dead calm of night with the rustle of the leaves. The storm was coming. For days the heavy heat had been gathering for a break.

In Marion's room there were whispering voices. Mistress Keziah, fully dressed, herself was superintending the robing of Marion for a long and arduous ride. The light of the candles on the dressing-table fell on the dark, shapely form, the bodice buttoned close, the wide skirt falling away. The gleaming hair was securely bound in a long plait, and then knotted at the nape of the neck. On the bed, beside the gloves and whip, lay the cavalier riding hat with its long, soft plume, which Lady Fairfax had given to her niece. The habit adjusted, Simone knelt and drew on the long riding boots, reaching almost to the knee, wide in the leg, tapering down to the foot.

Simone rose, and surveyed her mistress from head to heel. Her teeth caught on her trembling lip.

'Are you sure your arms are not held in any way, my dear?' asked Mistress Keziah. 'You have enough freedom of movement?'

'Quite, I think,' said Marion gently. 'Now do let me go, Aunt Keziah.'

''Tis not yet the dawn.'

Simone blew out the candles, and threw the shutters and casements wide. A sweet air crept into the room. At first, after the light of the interior, the garden seemed filled with the gloom of midnight. But soon the three at the window were aware of the shapes of trees, softly grey; of the diffused radiance of the sinking moon.

Marion leaned far out of the casement, and looked towards the east. A faint bar of light lay on the horizon. Over the sleeping land that rose beyond the town a breathing motion seemed to pass, as if Nature were stirring in her sleep. Again came the fitful breeze tossing the leaves in the garden.

'Hark!' said Marion. 'The cocks are crowing on the hill. Dearest, dearest Aunt Keziah, bless me, and let me go!'

There was a tremor in the clear voice, but outwardly Marion was calm. Simone had already stolen away.

Mistress Keziah wrapped her arms about the comely figure and pressed trembling kisses on the soft face. A few broken words fell from her lips; then she dropped her arms and turned away. With one backward look, Marion went out of the room. The old woman sat down and hid her face. She dared not follow to that little eastward room; she dared not witness the speeding of that silken thread.

Across the gallery Marion stole, her wide skirt gathered up on her arm. She listened awhile, leaning over the rail. There was no sound in the dark, sleeping house. For fully an hour the servants would be abed. Marion gently opened the double doors. A pitch darkness lay on the narrow passage. She groped her way by the wall, and presently climbed the dusty stair.

Simone was crouching by the little window, the grey of the coming dawn on her face and hair. Without a word she gave place to Marion, and stepping back, took up the bow, and held an arrow ready in her trembling fingers.

On the window ledge, where there was nothing to impede its run, lay the silk thread coiled as sailors coil a cable in the bows of a boat. Its upper end was attached to the arrow Simone held in readiness; the lower end ran to a corner of the room where the fine cord was similarly coiled atop the rope.

Marion examined the coils afresh, tested the knot that tied the silk to the arrow, then, giving the shaft back to Simone, knelt at the casement.

A dusky light touched the gaol chimneys. The niches of the casements were still dark, but Marion imagined she saw a white patch behind Roger's bars.

'Where is the sentry?' she whispered.

'I do not think he is there, Mademoiselle. But he must be, somewhere.'

Simone crouched behind her mistress, and the two pairs of eyes searched, inch by inch, the dark patches of the gaol buildings. Nowhere could they descry any shape that could be construed into the form of a man.

'Perhaps he is resting at the other side, Mademoiselle. There must be a bench or something there.'

'He is certainly not in sight,' decided Marion. 'Please God he is asleep on the bench, as you say.' She glanced anxiously at the sky. 'I dare not wait.'

Her hand shot out of the window, making the gesture of warning. She waited. A dim movement from the cell showed that her surmise was correct. Roger was awake and ready.

Freeing her knees from any constraint of her dress, Marion took her position just inside the casement a little to the right. With deliberation that seemed unending to Simone she fitted the arrow, drew the bowstring taut, once, twice, thrice. Then she gathered herself and rested motionless. A second later there was a flashing gleam in the grey air. Then a sharp tap. Aghast, Marion peered forward. The arrow had fallen wide, striking the masonry of the wall.

Simone gave a low cry of dismay, and stared at her mistress. Deathly white, Marion laid down the bow, and drew gently on the silken strand. Somehow the arrow must be retrieved.

There was a faint scraping noise as the shaft was drawn backward up the face of the wall. Twice it stuck in the masonry. Marion had a sickening fear that the silk would not carry the light burden she eased the length a little, then, with a swift lunge, played the silk outward, and jerked the arrow up above the wall. Rapidly she drew in the silk, hand over hand. On the wall of her aunt's garden the arrow stuck again. Less carefully Marion drew at it. The arrow caught on its point, and dropped sharply down inside the garden. At the next tug the silk broke.

'No matter,' said Marion. ''Tis safe. Another.'

Carefully the two coiled up the silk again. Marion dared not hurry. Should the length not run easily, the direction of the arrow would be warped.

Just as she knotted the line to the second arrow, there was a sound of scraping feet in the gaol yard. The girls looked at each other in the dim light.

Peering through the casement, Marion saw a dark figure detach itself from the buildings on the north side. With his arms wide, the sentry wearily stretched his body. He gave himself a little shake, and yawned. The watchers could plainly hear his loud 'Ha-ho!' Then he took up his carbine. A few notes of a tavern song came to their ears. The sentry was waking up. He shouldered his gun, and marched up and down the yard. A minute later he appeared on the south side, tramped the narrow space between the gaol and the wall, retraced his steps. As he turned, Marion was already fitting the arrow to the bow. His shuffling feet echoed in the silence of the enclosure. There would be about thirty seconds before he would turn again.

With hands clasped, shaking from head to foot, Simone watched the second arrow speed. Was it home? Yes. No. Again came the sickening tap. The shaft had struck the middle of the central bar in the grating, half an inch wide of the mark.

Once more Marion hauled in the silk. A deadly chill gripped her heart. The sentry's feet sounded nearer. A little puff of breeze came again. The silk shook as the arrow was drawn up the wall. Would it stick in a crevice this time? For a few seconds, during which Marion seemed not to breathe, and the room spun round her, the arrow caught on the stones. Round the corner came the sound of the sentry's feet. Marion leaned far out, and with a swift sideways motion played out the silk and drew the arrow over the coping of the wall. Just as the sentry appeared in view the shaft fell into the road that bordered the gaol.

'Never mind,' said Simone, through chattering teeth. 'I will go and get it later.'

As Simone snapped the silk and tied the broken end to the third arrow, Marion sank back on the floor. She closed her eyes, and leaned against the wall. A faintness had assailed her. If her courage once fled, failure would be certain. Twice she had missed the mark.

The man below trod noisily to and fro on the south side. Again came the snatches of the ditty. Drawing a long breath, Marion rallied herself, and peered out of the window. A white patch showed dimly between the bars of Roger's cell, immediately over the sentry's head. In the grey light, Marion imagined that she saw Roger's face. He seemed to be smiling up at the little window. To Marion's wild fancy the look was plain to be seen. It seemed to say, 'Bravely, little Mawfy!' as he had said of old when she had just failed of the mark.

Some quickening influence ran through the girl's blood. Her dread and fear fell away. She looked searchingly down at the cell grating; then, as the man below swung round, her fingers flashed the signal. The white patch behind the bars disappeared.

'How many arrows are there, Simone?'

'Twelve.'

'I shall win on the twelfth,' said Marion calmly, fitting the barb as she spoke.

Marion, kneeling, drew the bowstring taut. Simone held herself ready to draw in the silk, her ears strained............