I considered for a moment. Then I looked him full in the face.
"If I allow you to come," I said, "will you promise to disappear when you are told, and to come out when you are called, and not to speak till I give you leave?"
He answered, "I promise."
I did not disdain his arm. Whatever befell new, he was mine, all mine. The wind was in our faces, the moonbeams flashed on the water. Colour came to my cheeks, and the breeze ruffled the hair which had gone so long without Susan's brush and comb. As we stamped over the stones we might have been a boy and a girl escaping on a frolic.
A few hundreds of yards from the beck we were able to climb the low slope, and to pad along mutely over the grass. At the first brambles we turned inland, and descended softly into the ravine. We pulled up behind a high bush.
"Hush!" I whispered. "Not a sound. Don't move or speak till I give the word."
Through the thin autumn foliage, by the pale light of the moon, we could see a woman's figure across the beck. It was Susan, seated upon a modest bag.
I did not explain to Ruddington. I did not even tell him who the woman was. Two or three minutes passed; and then the silver chime of Bérigny proclaimed half-past eight.
Susan drew out her little handkerchief, and wiped away a tear. My heart went out to her. There was no Gibson; and I began to hope our task would be easy. But we heard a sudden sound of snapping branches and hurrying feet; and Gibson broke through into the light. Susan jumped up to meet him.
"Oh, Tom!" she wailed. "I began to think you wasn't coming."