Chapter Thirty.
Dark Deeds.
It was very dark among the trees as Dexter reached the grass plot which sloped to the willows by the river-side, but he knew his way so well that he crept along in silence till he had one hand resting upon the trunk he had so often climbed, and stood there gazing across the starlit water, trying to make out the figure of his companion in the boat.
All was silent, save that, now and then, the water as it ran among the tree-roots made a peculiar whispering sound, and once or twice there was a faint plash in the distance, as if from the feeding of a fish.
“Hist! Bob! Are you there!”
“Hullo!” came from the other side. “I was just a-going.”
“Going?”
“Yes. I thought you wasn’t a-coming, and I wasn’t going to stop here all night.”
“But you said twelve.”