"'Tis the hour," he said, as the iron tongue sounded from the tower. "And now for this unsafe partisan." A low whistle (as if from some person lying perdue without the wall of the churchyard) was almost immediately heard, and in a few minutes another footstep was also to be distinguished as if from the town.
The figure in the cloak immediately advanced towards the approaching sounds, and as he did so he freed his right arm from his cloak, and, pulling it more completely over the left shoulder, felt that his rapier was easy in the sheath, that his other weapons were free to his hand, and also that the dagger in his girdle was handy to his grasp.
Readiness in the use of the various weapons (at that time a part of the costume of a completely dressed cavalier) was one of the accomplishments of a gentleman, and the steps and bearing of the person we have described (although but partially distinguishable in the shade of the tall trees of the churchyard) proclaimed that he was a person of some condition.
He walked slowly and deliberately down the path towards the gate, so that by the time he had traversed half its length, the swinging sound of its opening and closing proclaimed that the person advancing had passed into the churchyard. The moon at this moment had become hidden behind one of the dark clouds which seemed to threaten a coming storm, so that (in the deepened gloom of the avenue) the tall cavalier (although the closing gate and approaching footsteps proclaimed the proximity of the new comer) could not at the moment distinguish him.
There seemed no desire for concealment on the part of either, as they walked boldly past each other. Only a close observer might have observed in the motions of each considerable caution and distrust. The hand closed over the hilt of the half-drawn dagger, and each gave the other what sailors term a wide berth in passing.
The gloom of the place, at this moment indeed, completely hindered the features of either party from being distinguished even in passing; nevertheless, as they moved by, each stared the other in the face with a sharp and piercing eye, and after having passed a few paces, both simultaneously wheeled round and retraced their steps. As they did so, the first comer repeated in a low tone a single word, as if to himself, which was immediately answered by the other, and both turned; a sign then passed between them; some mysterious signal, perhaps, like the words they had uttered, only known to the parties themselves.
"Gilbert Charnock!" said the first comer. "Is't not he?"
"The same," returned the other; "and dost not thou answer to-night to the name of Gifford?"
"Right," said the first; "you have come at the hour named."
"I am sworn to do so," replied Charnock.