The thought was such a terrible one that Bayre suddenly went back towards the great house, filled with vague longing to rescue the young girl from the shelter of such a doubtful home.
As he came near he saw a window in the middle of the building open, and a hand, the very turn of which he recognised, dark as it was, waving a handkerchief to him as he stopped.
He saw no face; he heard no sound. But there was something in the action that comforted him; for he had an idea that it was meant to put heart into him, and hope. He waved his own handkerchief in return, in silence also. Then the window closed and all was darkness again.
With a heart full of tender longings, but also with vague fears, he turned and went away.
He got into the avenue, and thence into the road; but before he was half-way to his lodging he was sure that he was being followed. It was not a pleasant sensation, with the doubts he had concerning the goodwill of the inhabitants of the island towards him. And after a time, during which he had ascertained beyond a doubt that his suspicions were correct, Bayre doubled back quickly, and discovered, as he had half-expected, the lean form of Pierre Vazon hidden behind a clump of brambles.
“Hallo!” cried he. “Following me, eh?”
Pierre did not appear to be taken aback by the discovery. He drew himself up at once, and said,—
“Precisely, monsieur. I was following you. And I only wanted to be at a safe distance from the château before I spoke to you.”
“Well, we are a long way off now.”
“Yes, yes.” The man looked at him with sly eyes which were, the young man thought, as disagreeable in their way as his uncle’s were in another. If there was no malignity in those of Vazon, there was much cunning.