At last the hoofs began to ring upon harder ground; the guide drew up, and from the creaking sound, Tom knew that he was opening a gate. He was cool and collected, but he could not help his breath coming a little quicker; he was almost at the end of the adventure; in a few moments he would know all. They rode inside and the gate closed behind them. Tom heard some low, guarded words addressed to his companion, but could not catch their meaning. Then came the quick command:
“Dismount!”
He slid to the ground and stood leaning against Sultan’s shoulder, unable to take a step in safety because of the blinding kerchief. A hand was placed upon his shoulder, and a new voice, rather less brusque than that of the man with the scar on his face, said:
“Now, my friend, I am going to lead you to the person you desire to see. Under no circumstances attempt to remove the bandage from your eyes until told; this affair is a most dangerous one, and the utmost secrecy must be maintained. You understand that, of course.”
“Yes,” said Tom. Of course, he thought, it would not do for the writer of the message to be suspected of having assisted him, a member of Marion’s Brigade, into the city. That was, then, the reason for all this secrecy.
He was led quickly up a flight of stone steps; a heavy door opened and closed behind him. They then passed down a long corridor, and entered a room where, as Tom could perceive even through the thick bandage, there were a great many brilliant lights.
“Now,” said the person who had conducted him, “I am going to leave you here. Wait the space of a full minute; then you may remove the bandage.”
Tom heard his footstep cross the floor and the door softly close behind him. All was then silent; his ears were straining to catch any sound that would indicate the presence of any one else in the apartment; he longed to tear the blinding kerchief from his eyes. He could hear a great, solemn clock in the room slowly ticking off the seconds, each of which seemed an age; but, at last, unable any longer to bear the suspense, he pulled the bandage away with a sudden jerk, and glared about him.
Many candles were burning upon tables, stands and in brackets on the wall. As he gazed at his surroundings a strange sense of familiarity came to him; the furnishings, the shape of the room, the position of the windows and doors, the pictures upon the walls.
“There can be no mistake,” he whispered to himself, a strange chill creeping over him. “I am standing in my father’s house.”