But at length, in the waves of the human noises rose a bigger wave,
and by the running and shouting and outcry, Curdie learned that the
magistrate was approaching.
Presently came the sound of the great rusty key in the lock, which
yielded with groaning reluctance; the door was thrown back, the
light rushed in, and with it came the voice of the city marshal,
calling upon Curdie, by many legal epithets opprobrious, to come
forth and be tried for his life, inasmuch as he had raised a tumult
in His Majesty's city of Gwyntystorm, troubled the hearts of the
king's baker and barber, and slain the faithful dogs of His
Majesty's well-beloved butchers.
He was still reading, and Curdie was still seated in the brown
twilight of the vault, not listening, but pondering with himself
how this king the city marshal talked of could be the same with the
Majesty he had seen ride away on his grand white horse with the
Princess Irene on a cushion before him, when a scream of agonized
terror arose on the farthest skirt of the crowd, and, swifter than
flood or flame, the horror spread shrieking. In a moment the air
was filled with hideous howling, cries of unspeakable dismay, and
the multitudinous noise of running feet. The next moment, in at
the door of the vault bounded Lina, her two green eyes flaming
yellow as sunflowers, and seeming to light up the dungeon.
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