One of the gardener’s audience was Tony Gusset, a man who did not work much at shoe-making or mending, but when he did he thought a great deal, and after this occasion he mused much over what Bella had heard. Then he put that and that together, and thought of a certain reward of a hundred pounds for the taking, dead or alive, of any one of the French spies who had sought refuge in the forest; and that reward haunted the village constable and kept him awake all night.
The next day, too, Bella’s, fright was food for reflection, and he mixed up with it the appearance of certain soldiers who had been billeted in the next village.
Tony Gusset thought very slowly, and he reasoned a good deal as well, and it resulted in his asking himself this question: If a man knew where the spies were and showed them to the soldiers, how much would he get, and how much would the soldiers want for their share?
Chapter Eleven.
Weary of Hiding.
“If he sees me going up and down like this he’ll tell me I look like a wild beast in a cage, and he’ll be quite right; I do. I feel like one. There are moments when it seems as if I can’t bear it. All this dreary wait, wait, wait; all this longing to be out in the fresh air, free. It makes my head throb, and when he comes I could quarrel with him and fight, good chap as he is, so anxious to help me. And then there are the things he brings me. But I can’t eat. I must—I will get out, if it’s only for an hour’s run so as to make myself tired. What must it feel to be a real prisoner, shut up, poor wretch, for years!”
Godfrey Boyne, who looked thin and haggard still, was sitting upon the edge of the truckle bed, elbows on knees, chin upon one hand, while the nails of the other were brought close to his firm teeth, to be nibbled and gnawed down till they were close to the quick, as their owner gazed straight out through the open window at the remains of the glowing sunset, which were paling fast.
“Why hasn’t he been to see me all these hours?” he muttered. “He must know how dreary it is up here. He ought to have come. Books,” he muttered, as he glanced sharply round, his eyes lighting for a moment upon one that lay open upon a chair; “I couldn’t read when it was all bright and light, and even if I could force myself to now, it will soon be dark. It was enough to make me angry and bang one book down, and throw the other in the corner. Hasn’t he any brains? To pick out such books as those—escapes from prison. Oh, how I should like to escape from mine and get into the woods! He promised to take me. But, of course, I would come back. I wouldn’t have Waller think me ungrateful for the world. I can’t help liking him very much; but he’d think it silly if I told him I did. He won’t take me out to-night. He’d say again that it wasn’t safe while the soldiers were about; and I suppose he’s right. Oh, how miserable it is! I daren’t even look out of the window for fear of being seen by the servants or the gardener. Well, it will soon be dark, and then I can stare out at the stars. I wonder whether father got away, and what he thinks about me. Let’s see, how did that fellow escape?” he added, after an interval, during which dark clouds were sweeping up from the west, and the room seemed to fill with gloom. “Let’s see, he made himself a rope.”