He was weary with much walking, and low-spirited. What had been a pleasant sojourn ashore had become wearisome and full of pain, due, he felt, rightly or wrongly, to the coming of Sir Mark, the recollection of whom made his brows knit and his hands involuntarily clench.
These thoughts stayed him in his course, and more than once he sat down thinking whether it would not be better to get away to one of the ports, and charter a small vessel for a trip, so as to occupy his mind.
“And leave the field open to the enemy?” he cried, springing up. “Nay, that’s not like Gil Carr.”
With sundry plans in his head, then, he now went straight on, climbing up the rugged sides of the ravine, heedless of the growing darkness, and at last reaching the entrance to his store.
His intention had been to glance at it, and make sure that it was all right, and then to go on to Roehurst for the night, hoping to gain an interview with Mace, and take her to task for her change, when he had spoken of himself.
But as he reached the entrance his heart stood still, for his worst fears were confirmed. The retreat that he had taken such pains to keep a secret, and had shrouded with enough mystery to make the goings and comings of his men an object, not of curiosity amongst the simple superstitious people, but alarm, had been discovered, and by some one full enough of enterprise and daring to make his way inside.
The first thing that struck his attention was a tall, stout fir-pole, which had evidently been used as a lever to dislodge the stone that stopped the entrance, and on going close up and peering in he could see a dim light burning upon one of the barrels, while a figure was down upon its knees hard at work opening a case.
“The pitiful thief!” said Gil, as a movement on the intruder’s part let the light fall upon his face. “As I thought—Abel Churr. Well, Master Churr,” he muttered, as a hard look came over his face, “you have discovered a secret that should be paid for—with death—the due meed awarded to a thief.”
He drew his long, thin sword, and, holding it before him, stepped cautiously forward; but altering his mind, he thrust it back into the sheath with an impatient ejaculation, and once more peered over the stones between them at where the marauder was busily prising open the case.
“The fool!” muttered Gil; “if that candle burned down he would be blown to pieces. What cursed luck that he should have found us out.”