It was during one of these musing fits, when he was wondering, to use the homely phrase, how Denis was getting on, that Leoni, after a long silence, spoke out decisively.
“We will wait till it is dark,” he said. “It will not be long now—and then row on through the night. It looks so clear that I expect we shall have the moon to help us on our way. To-morrow morning we shall be obliged to risk landing somewhere on the left bank, and then make our way due south, walking till the King is weary—of course after one of us has bought food of some kind, for he will never walk without. Hah!” he continued, as he bent over the sleeping King and carefully examined his face. “He is dreaming a good deal now.”
“How do you know?” asked Saint Simon.
“By the motion of his eyes.”
“Why, they are shut, sir.”
“Yes, but look how they are turning about beneath his lids. He is going through some imaginary scene—hunting perhaps.”
Singularly enough, as the doctor spoke in a whisper, Francis proved the correctness of Leoni’s surmise, for he exclaimed:
“Yon bosky piece—quick! Lay on the hounds!”
Leoni drew back with a smile, and met Saint Simon’s wondering eyes.
“Yes,” he said; “he is getting to the end of his deep sleep. It will not be long before he wakes, and I should say just at dark. Ah, good! It is lightening in the east. Yonder comes the moon. We will start at once; but I must cover him again. The mist is rising in the meadows, and it promises a damp night.”