As quietly as ghosts they stole down the path, trying not to rustle so much as a leaf. They were close now to the lantern. They could see it quite clearly, set on the ground, and two figures bending over it.
Skirting round under the bushes, they reached the shelter of an oak tree that grew on the side of a bank, and peeped cautiously round the trunk. Yes, it was certainly Scott and Mrs. Wilson who were in the shrubbery below. Every now and then a glint of light revealed their faces unmistakably. They were talking together in low tones, unfortunately too low for their conversation to be overheard. Scott held a spade in his hand, and was stooping to watch Mrs. Wilson, who, kneeling on the grass, was fumbling inside a large sack.
"Can you see if she's counting money?" breathed Cicely into Lindsay's ear. "I believe they're going to bury it."
"It looks like something bigger and heavier," whispered Lindsay, trying to crane her neck farther forward.
"Is it silver plate?"
"It might be anything in that huge sack."
"Oh! Not a body!"
I believe Cicely would have fled precipitately if Lindsay had not held her tightly by the hand. The fear that old Sir Giles Courtenay was being finally disposed of oppressed her like a nightmare.
"No! I expect it's the treasure. We must notice exactly where they're putting it."
Lindsay took a step nearer, to gain a better view of the proceedings, but as she did so her foot trod noisily on a dead twig.