The fragment of the tower in which Barbara was perched was a small
projecting turret-room, standing on the top of a buttress, and had been,
doubtless, used in the early ages, as a species of sentry-box, from
which a soldier could command a view of the country and the coast. It
was with feelings of extreme terror that she perceived Burrell and
Roupall close beneath her, standing so as to be concealed from the
observation of any passenger who might go to or from the dwelling. She
drew her dark cloak over her head and face, leaving only an opening to
peep through, anxious to avoid, by every means in her power, the hazard
of a discovery. She could gather from the conversation between the two,
that Burrell was describing to Roupall something that he must do, and
offering him a large reward for its completion; she listened eagerly,
and heard them frequently speak of Cecil Place and Walter De Guerre. Her
attention, however, was soon drawn away by the appearance of a third
person--unseen by the others--creeping round a projecting corner, like a
tiger about to spring upon its prey, and then crouching close to the
earth. The form was that of a slight youth, clad in a tight-fitting
doublet and vest, and, it would seem, armed only with a dagger, which,
however, he carried unsheathed, and so openly that the moonbeams danced
upon its polished point, as lightning on a diamond, whenever he changed
its position in his hand (which he did more than once). He crept on so
silently that neither were at all aware of his approach, but continued
talking and bargaining as before. Barbara felt that danger was at hand;
and yet, had she the inclination, she had not the power to speak, but
sat breathlessly and tremblingly awaiting the result. Suddenly, but
still silently, as though the figure were a phantom, and the dagger
air-drawn, the boy rose from the ground, and held the weapon as if
irresolute whether to strike or not. The manner in which he stood fully
convinced Barbara Iverk that Burrell was the object of some intended
attack--she tried to shriek, but the voice choked in her throat. As
rapidly as this mysterious being had risen from, he sank into his
former crawling attitude, and disappeared. All this occurred in much
less time than has been occupied in relating it, and the poor maiden
almost thought she had been deceived by some supernatural appearance.
She was soon aroused from her painful state of voiceless terror by the
words of Burrell, who now spoke more loudly than at first.
"I will give him his liberty this very night, which of course, under the
circumstances I have mentioned, he cannot fail to consider a most deep
obligation--an act of disinterested generosity. I will give it him
secretly, of course; and you meet him on his exit. As we go along, I
will settle the where--and then--the matter is easily concluded."