“Don’t shoot me, colonel!” said a voice in the darkness, “I am a friend.”
I recognized the voice of Nighthawk.
“Good heavens! my dear Nighthawk,” I said, drawing a long breath of relief, “you are enough to make Alonzo the Brave, himself, tremble? You turn up everywhere, and especially in the dark! What are you doing here?”
“I am watching, colonel,” said Nighthawk, with benignant sweetness.
“Watching?”
“And waiting.”
“Waiting for whom?”
“For a lady with whom you have the honor of being acquainted.”
“A lady—?”
“That one you last saw in the lonely house near Monk’s Neck. Hush! here she comes.”