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Chapter 26
Thebridgeiscloseunderthecastlehill,anold,high,narrowbridgewithpinnaclesalongtheparapet;andyoumayconceivewithhowmuchinterestIlookeduponit,notonlyasaplacefamousinhistory,butastheverydoorsofsalvationtoAlanandmyself.Themoonwasnotyetupwhenwecamethere;afewlightsshonealongthefrontofthefortress,andlowerdownafewlightedwindowsinthetown;butitwasallmightystill,andthereseemedtobenoguarduponthepassage.
Iwasforpushingstraightacross;butAlanwasmorewary.
“Itlooksunco’quiet,”saidhe;“butforallthatwe’llliedownherecannilybehindadyke,andmakesure.”
Sowelayforaboutaquarterofanhour,whileswhispering,whileslyingstillandhearingnothingearthlybutthewashingofthewateronthepiers.Atlasttherecamebyanold,hobblingwomanwithacrutchstick;whofirststoppedalittle,closetowherewelay,andbemoanedherselfandthelongwayshehadtravelled;andthensetforthagainupthesteepspringofthebridge.Thewomanwassolittle,andthenightstillsodark,thatwesoonlostsightofher;onlyheardthesoundofhersteps,andherstick,andacoughthatshehadbyfits,drawslowlyfartheraway.
“She’sboundtobeacrossnow,”Iwhispered.
“Na,”saidAlan,“herfootstillsoundsbossuponthebridge.”
Andjustthen—“Whogoes?”criedavoice,andweheardthebuttofamusketrattleonthestones.
