The wooden bedstead creaked, and rubbed against the side of the house as she turned herself upon it.

The creaking and rubbing could be heard on the other side of the wall.
There was a man walking like a sentry outside who did hear.

It was Bart Toyner, the constable.
After he heard the bed creak he still waited awhile, walking slowly round the house in silence and darkness.

Then, as he passed the side where the bedroom was, there came the sound of a slight sleeping snore, repeated as regularly as the breath might come and go in a woman's breast.
After a while Toyner retreated with noiseless steps, standing still when he had moved away about fifty paces, looking at the house again with careful, suspicious eyes; then, as if satisfied, he slid back the iron shade that covered his lantern and, lighting his own steps, he walked away.
He had moved so quietly that the girl who lay upon the bed did not hear him.

She did not, in fact, know for certain whether he had been there or not, much less that he had gone, so that she toilsomely kept up the pretence of that gentle snore for half an hour or more.