‘I must get a handkerchief. CHAPTER VII The astonishing collapse of Spurlock created a tableau of short duration. As the secret door opened, the sounds within the house came at once to her ears: the tramping of feet above, and the hoarse voices echoing through the mansion. Dieu du ciel, what was it? She turned slowly, listening for the direction of the sound. Cocked hats and buckled swords spoke of rank. "Prisoner at the bar," thus ran the sentence, "you shall be taken to the prison from whence you came, and put into a mean room, stopped from the light; and shall there be laid on the bare ground, without any litter, straw, or other covering, and without any garment.
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