Accustomed to rough climbing, though, as he was, he did not hesitate, and raising himself up till he could look over the edge, he was in time to see the study door open, and Sarah Woodham enter the room.
It was a little disappointing, for at the first glimpse of the woman’s dress he thought it was Claude; and, in utter ignorance of the fact that his opportunity had come, and that the ladies were now alone in the drawing-room, he remained watching for a time, and then crept slowly back, wishing that he had had the foresight to bring a note, for, had he borne one, he could easily have contrived to send it, with a pebble inside, through Claude’s open window.
Low-spirited and despondent, ready to take himself to task for coming upon so mad an expedition, he made his way cautiously back towards the garden, hesitating still as to whether he should go away, or wait about on the chance of getting a word with Claude. Common sense and manly pride advocated the return, but there was the natural desire to see the woman he loved, even if he were playing the part of a spy; and with a sigh he crept from bush to bush, keeping well in the shadowy till once more he was within range of the drawing-room window, and in the act of parting two boughs to gaze between, when there was a rustling sound, a strong hand held him by the collar, another grasped his wrist, and a deep voice said—
“I’ve got you, have I? What are you doing here?”
Stung to the quick by shame and annoyance, Chris swung himself back to make a desperate leap and escape—feeling that he had been discovered by Gartram, and like a flash the degradation and bitterness of what was to come seemed to blaze through his brain.
But there is a good old saying: Look before you leap.
Chris Lisle did not look before he leapt, and the consequence was that he went with a crash in among the elastic boughs of a short sturdy Weymouth pine, and was thrown back into his captor’s arms.
“Oh, no; you don’t,” rang in his ears, as he was borne to the ground, falling back on the grass with his face right out in the moonlight.
“Mr Lisle!”
“You, Brime!” whispered Chris huskily, as the hands were taken from his collar, and he struggled up, to stand facing the gardener.