"The door will not open at your bidding!" Fareham said fiercely.
He snatched Angela up in his arms before the other could prevent him, and
carried her triumphantly to the first landing-place, which was considerably
below that treacherous gap between stair and stair. He had the key of the
garden door in his pocket, unlocked it, and was in the open air with his
burden before Denzil could overtake him.
He found himself caught in a trap. He had his coach-and-six and armed
postillions waiting close by, and thought he had but to leap into it with
his prey and spirit her off towards Bristol; but between the coach and the
door one of Sir John's pickets was standing, who the moment the door opened
whistled his loudest, and brought Constable and man and another armed
servant running helter-skelter round an angle of the house, and so crossing
the very path to the coach.
"Fire upon him if he tries to pass you!" cried Denzil.
"What! And shoot the lady you have professed to love!" exclaimed Fareham,
drawing himself up, and standing firm as a rock, with Angela motionless in
his arms.
He dropped her to her feet, but held her against his left shoulder with an
iron hold, while he drew his sword and made a rush for the coach.
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