He himself took his stand beside the chimney and fingered a volume of the registers, making pretence to read but keeping his eye alert for any movement of Leicester.

No one spoke; until the prisoner, intercepting a glance from Miss Belcher, broke into a sudden brutal laugh.
"Poor old lady!" he jeered, and his eyes travelled wickedly across the disordered floor.

"Whitmore left a lot behind him, eh ?" She rose and turning her back on him, walked to the window.
There she leaned out, seeming to study the night: but I saw that her shoulders heaved.
The Rector looked across with a puzzled frown.

Leicester laughed again: and with that, Miss Belcher came back to him, slipped out the riding-crop which trussed him, and held it under his nose.

Her face was white, but calm.