But at the same time he felt lighter at heart, and there was the knowledge to support him that he had done his duty at a very trying time.
“I should have felt that every right-thinking man had looked down upon me,” he said, half aloud, “and little Adela would have been ashamed when she knew all, to call me friend.”
He stood with his eyes still fixed upon the door thinking, and now his thoughts were mingled with bitter feelings, for he was still a prisoner at the mercy of a set of lawless men, Sir Henry being no doubt merely a visitor here, and possessed of but little authority.
“And I know too much for them to let me go and bring a few of our lads to rout out their nest,” he said, half aloud. “Never mind, they won’t dare to kill me, unless it is by accident,” he added grimly, and then he ran to the window to see if Adela were in sight.
Practice had made him nimble now, and leaping up, he caught the bars, drew himself into the embrasure, and peered between the bars.
“Pst! Adela!” he cried eagerly, for he could just see her light dress between the trees.
She looked up, and came running towards the window, looking bright and happy, and there was an eager light in her eyes.
“Why, Hil!” she cried. “I did not think you would be there now. Papa said he thought you would soon be at liberty, and that perhaps you would stay with us a little while before you went away.”
“And should you like me to stay with you?” he said, gazing down.
“Oh, yes; so much!” she said naïvely. “This old place is so dull and lonely, and I am so much alone with an old woman who waits upon us. Why don’t you come out?”