I led the way into the room, and Tom followed, to stand at the door, picking his cap, and waiting to be told to come in.
“Don’t stand there, Tom,” I said; “come in and sit down. You are to be one of the privy-councillors.”
“All right, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom, seating himself close to the door.
My uncle not being in the room, I supposed that he had gone to secure the gold, and walked across to where lay my cut and destroyed leather valise, which I was turning over when I heard what had never thrilled through the rooms of my uncle’s house since I had been there—namely, a light, heart-stirring, silvery-like song, and for a few moments I stood listening, as it came nearer and nearer, till Lilla tripped into the dark room, to start, stop short, and then colour up upon finding the place occupied.
The next moment I was by her side restraining her, for she would have darted away, and as I looked in her eyes I could read the story of the happy little heart rejoicing at being freed from a hateful bondage.
I must give Tom the credit of being a most discreet companion, for he suddenly found that it would be possible to repair my valise, and for the next quarter of an hour he was busily cutting and unpicking the great coarse stitches.
I was startled from my dreams back to the realities of life, for during that quarter of an hour existence had been bright and golden enough for me, without thinking of anything else; and the gold, the Indians, my uncle—everything had been forgotten, when Mrs Landell entered the room.
“Have you seen your uncle?” she said to me, rather anxiously.
“Not during the last quarter of an hour or so,” I replied. “He left us to come indoors. Go and see if he is in the yard,” I said to Tom.
Tom went, to return in about five minutes with the news that my uncle had not been there for some time.