My heart was beating loudly, for there was the promised lantern. Was I not soon to see the brighter light of those dear faces? It was all the kind of thing I enjoyed then,—the atmosphere of peril and romance,—wild youth that I was. It is a pity, God knows, I had so little consideration for old D'ri; but he loved me, and—well, he himself had some pleasure in excitement.
We halted for only a moment, pushing boldly through a thicket of young pines into the light. A lantern hung on the bough of a tall tree, and beneath it was a wide opening well carpeted with moss and needles. We peered off into the gloom, but saw nothing.
D'ri blew out a thoughtful breath, looking up into the air coolly, as he filled his pipe.
"Consarned if ever I wanted t' have a smoke s' bad 'n all my born days," he remarked.
Then he moved his holster, turned his scabbard, and sat down quietly, puffing his pipe with some look of weariness and reflection. We were sitting there less than five minutes when we heard a footfall near by; then suddenly two men strode up to us in the dim light. I recognized at once the easy step, the long, lithe figure, of his Lordship in the dress of a citizen, saving sword and pistols.
"Ah, good evening, gentlemen," said he, quietly. "How are you?"
"Better than—than when we saw you last," I answered.
D'ri had not moved; he looked up at me with a sympathetic smile.
"I presume," said his Lordship, in that familiar, lazy tone, as he lighted a cigar, "there was—ah—good room for improvement, was there not?"
"Abundant," said I, thoughtfully. "You were not in the best of health yourself that evening."