When he had placed the letters and the paper in the box, he drew out the jewel-cases and opened them. He had not looked at them for years. To-night he was living in the past. He opened case after case, and gazed lovingly at the gleaming jewels within. But as the diamonds sparkled in the gaslight, and the rubies and the emeralds shot forth their coloured rays, as though eager to escape from the long darkness in which they had been imprisoned, the old squire thought not of their value and beauty, but of the loving bosom the necklace once lay upon, of the gentle wrists the bracelets once clasped.
As he laid them back in the box and closed it with a sigh, he fancied he heard a sound in the passage outside.
He hurried to see what it was.
The library door was slightly ajar and the gas was lit.
As he turned he heard, or fancied he heard, a rustle, as though some one who had been peering into the room had moved away.
There was no one about belonging to the house, he knew. The servants had gone to the servants’ hall, and they never came near him except when he rang.
It was about nine o’clock, and they would be all at supper down below. Who was watching him?—who was spying on his movements?
He walked rapidly towards the door.
At the same moment he heard a noise behind him, and felt the wind blowing in from an open window.
He turned at the sound, and would have shouted for help, but a hand was thrust over his mouth and a cloth was thrown over his head.