From the spot where they stood they had a view of the whole of the Priory.  She could not come out without being seen.  Above the door was a long narrow window which opened upon the staircase.  On this Girdlestone and his son fixed their eyes, for they knew that on her way down she would be visible at it.  As they looked, the dim light which shone through it was obscured and then reappeared.

“She has passed!”

“Hush!”

Another moment and the door was stealthily opened.  Once again the broad golden bar shot out across the lawn almost to the spot where the confederates were crouching.  In the centre of the zone of light there stood a figure—­the figure of the girl.  Even at that distance they could distinguish the pearl-grey mantle which she usually wore and the close-fitting bonnet.  She had wrapped a shawl round the lower part of her face to protect her from the boisterous wind.  For a minute or more she stood peering out into the darkness of the night, as though uncertain whether to proceed or to go back.  Then, with a quick, sudden gesture she closed the door behind her.  The light was no longer there, but they knew that she was outside the house, and that the appointment would be kept.

What an age it seemed before they heard her footsteps.  She came very slowly, putting one foot gingerly before the other, as if afraid of falling over something in the darkness.  Once or twice she stopped altogether, looking round, no doubt, to make sure of her whereabouts.  At that instant the moon shone out from behind a cloud, and they saw her dark figure a short distance on.  The light enabled her to see the withered oak, for she came rapidly towards it.  As she approached, she satisfied herself apparently that she was the first on the ground, for she slackened her pace once more and walked in the listless way that people assume when they are waiting.  The clouds were overtaking the moon again, and the light was getting dimmer.

“I can see her still,” said Ezra in a whisper, grasping his father’s wrist in his excitement.

The old man said nothing, but he peered through the darkness with eager, straining eyes.

“There she is, standing out a little from the oak,” the young merchant said, pointing with a quivering finger.  “She’s not near enough for him to reach her.”

“He’s coming out from the shadow now,” the other said huskily.  “Don’t you see him crawling along the ground?”

“I see him,” returned the other in the same subdued, awestruck voice.  “Now he has stopped; now he goes on again!  My God, he’s close behind her!  She is looking the other way.”

A thin ray of light shot down between the clouds.  In its silvery radiance two figures stood out hard and black, that of the unconscious girl and of the man who crouched like a beast of prey behind her.  He made a step forward, which brought him within a yard of her.  She may have heard the heavy footfall above the shriek of the storm, for she turned suddenly and faced him.  At the same instance she was struck down with a crashing blow.  There was no time for a prayer, no time for a scream.  One moment had seen her a magnificent woman in all the pride of her youthful beauty, the next left her a poor battered, senseless wreck.  The navvy had earned his blood-money.