There was a gasping cry, smothered and full of fear. Then the girl replied:
“I know that, too. It is horrible. But,” and her voice suddenly became clear and sure, “he shall not harm my brother. That he is here seeking information, I know. But he shall learn nothing—he shall do nothing.”
“Who will prevent him?”
“I will!” she answered and her voice was filled with resolve.
Again their voices sank; then George heard footsteps advancing toward the door. A tall Dutch clock stood near by, as the inquiring hands of the young New Englander had learned, and quickly he shrank close to its side as the room door swung open.
“I’ll bid you good-night, cousin,” said the voice of Major Hyde, “and advise you to go to your chamber.”
What Peggy’s answer was George did not hear. Then the major shut the door and passed down the corridor; the soft closing of another door told the watcher that he entered his own room at the far end.
George waited for some little time, fearing that Peggy would emerge and discover him. But as she did not do so, he quietly tiptoed to his own room. Drawing aside the screen he stepped out into the center of the apartment, yawning and putting back the hair from his eyes, as though he’d been asleep.
At once his gaze went with studied carelessness to the portrait; there were the eyes, eager, alert, inquiring, fixed upon him.
“Hello,” said he, with ready art, as he yawned again. “I must have fallen into a doze.”