Chapter 19.7 - Shirley

Mr. Hellstone thinks we have no idea which way he is gone." Murmured Miss Kielder. "'Nor on what errand. Nor with what expectations. Nor how prepared. But I guess much. Do not you? I guess something.' "'All those gentlemen, your cousin Moore included, think that you and I are now asleep in our beds, unconscious.' "'Caring nothing about them. Hoping and fearing nothing for them,' added Caroline. Both kept silence for full half an hour. The night was silent too. Only the church clock measured its course by quarters. Some words were interchanged about the chill of the air. They wrapped their scarves close around them, resumed their bonnets which they had removed, and again watched. Towards midnight, the teasing, monotonous bark of the house-dog disturbed the quietude of their vigil. Caroline rose, and made her way noiselessly through the dark passages to the kitchen, intending to appease him with a piece of bread. She succeeded. On returning to the dining-room, she found it all dark, Miss Kielder having extinguished the candle. The outline of her shape was visible near the still-open window leaning out. Miss Hellstone asked no questions. She stole to her side. The dog recommenced barking furiously. Suddenly he stopped and seemed to listen. The occupants of the dining-room listened too. And not merely now to the flow of the mill-stream, there was a nearer, though a muffled sound on the road below the churchyard, a measured, beating, approaching sound, a dull tramp of marching feet. It drew near. Those who listened, by degrees, comprehended its extent. It was not the tread of two, nor of a dozen, nor of a score of men. It was the tread of hundreds.