It seemed quite feasible, quite safe.
It was all so comfortably arranged for him. He felt he owed Dillwyn a debt of gratitude for the ladder and the open window. What a truly Christian trust in Providence he showed, sleeping thus at the mercy of all men! He shook anew with his horrible merriment. What a gay bridegroom he would look to-morrow. The early morning light would touch up his face.
CHAPTER XXXV
Darkness had fallen. The wind was sighing heavily, and no star appeared.
Through the dense shadow of the trees Darkham was hurrying swiftly, stealthily. Sometimes he ran, but always he made great haste.
A loose sweeping branch met him, and cut him across the face a swingeing blow. He felt no pain. When he had broken it he cast it aside impatiently and went on with even increasing speed.
Suddenly he stood still and listened. Again!
It was the second time he had heard that sound, or fancied he had heard it. A dull unplaceable sound, yet one that suggested itself to him as the footsteps of a person following.
Once before he had stopped to listen, but nothing came of it, except the heavy soughing of the wind in the trees as the storm swept over them. No sound but that. Yet all through his hurried walk in the wood, it had seemed to him that that sound lay behind him, as though some strange thing was haunting him.
He went on again, moving cautiously, yet with great speed. Every now and then he thrust his hand into his inner pocket, and there felt for something, and patted it with a curious affection.