Down lower and lower, past Adela’s window, and then coming into sight of a broad casement where a light was burning.
The upper floors of the old building projected beyond the lower, so that he had not been aware of this lighted room, and as he hung there turning slowly round and round he could plainly see Sir Henry in a comfortably-furnished place, seated at a table writing, while Adela was gazing up into his face as she sat upon a low stool at his feet.
For a few moments Hilary hung there motionless, feeling that if Sir Henry raised his eyes, as he was sure to do at the slightest sound, he could not help seeing him gently spinning round and round.
Recovering himself though, directly, he let himself slide, and reached the ground, but made so much noise that he heard Sir Henry speak, and he had hardly time to dart aside, drawing with him the white rope, and crouch down close to the house, before the window was opened, and he knew that some one was looking out.
“No, papa,” said a well-known voice, “I can see nothing.”
“Look again,” said Sir Henry. “Stop; I’ll come.”
There was the noise of a moving chair, and then Hilary felt that Sir Henry was looking out of the window, and wondered whether he was seen.
He hardly dared to breathe, and it seemed like an hour before he heard a sigh, and Sir Henry said, softly—
“What a lovely night, my child!”
Then there was the sound of the casement being closed, steps faintly heard across the room, and, gliding from his place of concealment, Hilary made for the bridge, crossed it, and then darted amongst the bushes beside the narrow lane, for there was a buzz of voices behind him, and from the other side of the house he could see the light of a lantern, and then came the tramp of a horse and the sound of wheels.