"It is a ribbon," Marjorie said hoarsely. "Barbie was wearing——" She paused, turning her dilated eyes to her companion's face.
"My baby's sash—it is tied there," he said quickly; "it is a signal."
He turned to her, and for a second their encountering eyes were eloquent. Under the shock of sudden hope, the joy, the emotion, the agitation of the moment, the man's self-control vanished. His eyes spoke their message—hers replied—both of them taken unawares.
"Hush!" said Marjorie, putting up her hands as if answering speech. "I know the way," she faltered. "Father has keys; wait, don't tell them yet, till we are sure. It is the chapel roof, where they were mending. Sandy knew."
She turned swiftly, the man following with eager strides.
CHAPTER XI.
JUVENILE ADVENTURERS.
A big yew-tree hid the corner of the wall, where the adventurers, on their enterprise, dropped down into the cathedral yard. Numerous square tombstones and old monuments made splendid hiding-places. There was only one little bit of open space to cross, where the evening sunshine cast long shadows, and where for a few moments the strange little truant procession looked a procession of giants.
David and Sandy each held a hand of Barbara, she having declined to be carried. Ross and Orme followed solemnly. If anybody had met them, the boys would have turned down the path to their home, and their presence there would have seemed quite natural. But no one passed—no one was in sight. David had chosen the time for his move well. The Court households were busy preparing for dinner. And though windows commanded the cathedral yard, from none, as it turned out, was the start of the little party into the world observed. Once across the grass, they were soon hidden by the many projections and buttresses and corners of the walls.