Cyril obeyed.
And then, having lighted Cyril’s gas, Samuel drew the blind, unfastened the catch of the window, and began to open it with many precautions of silence. All the sashes in that house were difficult to manage. Cyril stood close to his father, shivering without knowing that he shivered, astonished only that his father had not told him to get back into bed at once. It was, beyond doubt, the proudest hour of Cyril’s career. In addition to the mysterious circumstances of the night, there was in the situation that thrill which always communicates itself to a father and son when they are afoot together upon an enterprise unsuspected by the woman from whom their lives have no secrets.
Samuel put his head out of the window.
A man was standing there.
“That you, Samuel?” The voice came low.
“Yes,” replied Samuel, cautiously. “It’s not Cousin Daniel, is it?”
“I want ye,” said Daniel Povey, curtly.
Samuel paused. “I’ll be down in a minute,” he said.
Cyril at length received the command to get back into bed at once.
“Whatever’s up, father?” he asked joyously.