At last he gave up in despair, and rising up he sat on the side of the bed, with his feet dangling down, and looked around.
The moon had risen, and was shining into the room. By its light he could see the outline of the beds. Around him there ascended a choral harmony composed of snores of every degree, reaching from the mild, mellow intonation of Clive, down to the deep, hoarse, sepulchral drone of Uncle Moses. In spite of his vexation about his wakefulness, a smile passed over Bob's face, as he listened to those astonishing voices of the night.
Suddenly a sound caught his ears, which at once attracted his attention, and turned all his thoughts in another direction.
It was the sound of footsteps immediately in front of the house, and apparently at the doorway. How much time had passed he did not know; but he felt sure that it must be at least midnight. He now perceived that there were some in the house who had not gone to bed. The footsteps were shuffling and irregular, as though some people were trying to walk without making a noise. The sound attracted Bob, and greatly excited him.
In addition to the footsteps there were other sounds. There were the low murmurs of voices in a subdued tone, and he judged that there must be at least a half a dozen who were thus talking. To this noise Bob sat listening for some time. It remained in the same place, and of course he could make nothing out of it; but it served to reawaken all the fears of brigands which had been aroused before they went to bed.
At length he heard a movement from below. The movement was along the ball. It was a shuffling movement, as of men walking with the endeavor not to make a noise.
Bob listened.
His excitement increased.
At last he heard the sounds more plainly.
They were evidently at the foot of the stairway.