He drew them on and, taking up his hat and sword, went down the creaking stairs and out into the street.
Bridgwater had fallen quiet by now; the army was gone and townsfolk were in their beds.

Moodily, unconsciously, yet as if guided by a sort of instinct, he went down the High Street, and then turned off into the narrower lane that led in the direction of Lupton House.

By the gates of this he paused, recalled out of his abstraction and rendered aware of whither his steps had led him by the sight of the hall door standing open, a black figure silhouetted against the light behind it.

What was happening here?
Why were they not abed like all decent folk?
The figure called to him in a quavering voice.

"Mr.Wilding! Mr.
Wilding!" for the light beating upon his face and figure from the open door had revealed him.