“If I hadn’t been such a fool,” he would mutter, “I might have had it easy enough.” And he would sit day after day watching the Fort with his double glass, thinking of the wealth lying there—how easily it could be snatched by foul means, seeing how well he knew the place.
But common sense would step in then, and remind him that everything would be locked up now, perhaps sealed, and that Gartram’s arrangements were secure enough to set even burglars at defiance. No; it must be by fair play. He must lose no more time, but go to the Fort, and quietly show Claude that he was waiting, and contrive to make her confide in him—let him help her, so that he might gradually strengthen his position.
“And it wants no strengthening,” he said angrily; “it was her father’s wish, and we are betrothed.”
Then a fit of trembling assailed him, and he shrank from going up to the place, where it would seem as if Gartram were standing at the entrance, stern and forbidding, to keep him back.
He flew to brandy again, to steady his shaking nerves.
“No,” he gasped, as he drained his glass; “I can’t do it. I’m bad enough, but I can’t go and court the daughter after—”
“Curse you, be quiet!” he cried, smiting himself across the mouth. “Do you want to blab to everybody the story of the accident?”
He seized the binocular again to watch the way up to the Fort, in jealous dread lest Chris Lisle should go up there; but, though he was constantly watching, and often saw Chris go out from his lodgings, it was mostly with his rod upon his shoulder, and in the other direction—toward the bridge and the glen.
And so the days glided by, till one morning, as he sat watching, longing to go up to the Fort, but putting off his visit till time had made him more confident and firm, he suddenly caught sight of a figure—the tall, sturdy figure of a man—going up to the entrance-gate.
Glyddyr was all excitement on the instant. A stranger—a well-dressed man—going up there! What could it mean?