"The boy has not had time to confess the secret,"—the thought almost rose to the colonel's lips.—"If this unknown man returns to town, leaving Gulian here, all will yet be well."
The hall-door opened again, was locked, and the form of the unknown, in cloak and sombrero, once more appeared upon the garden walk.
"To town, Felix, as fast as you can drive. I must be back within two hours."
"Yes, my lord."
He entered the carriage,—it turned,—and the horses dashed up the narrow road at full speed.
"Two hours!" ejaculated Tarleton, as the sound of the wheels died away. "In two hours, 'my lord!' you will find the nest robbed of its bird."
Determined at all hazards to rescue the person of the boy, Gulian, and bear him from the old mansion, he opened the wicket gate, and, passing along the garden walk, approached the silent mansion. The wind sighed mournfully among the leafless branches, and not a single ray of light illumined the front of the gloomy pile.
The colonel passed under the porch, and tried the hall door; it was locked. With a half-muttered curse, he again emerged from the porch, and from the garden walk, once more surveyed the mansion.
Could he believe his eyes? From a narrow window, in the second story of the western wing, a ray of light stole out upon the gloom—stole out from an aperture in the window curtains—and trembled like a golden thread along the garden walk.
"The window is low,—the room is a part of the olden portion of the mansion,—that lattice work, intended for the vines, will bear my weight; one blow at the window-sash, and I am in the chamber!"