CHAPTER XII
A FLIGHT BY TWO
It was about ten by the watch, and a very cold, dark and quiet night, when Prescott reached the Grayson cottage and paused a moment at the gate, the dry snow crumbling under his heels. There was no light in the window, nor could he see any smoke rising from the chimney. The coal must be approaching the last lump, he thought, and the gold would be gone soon, too. But there was another and greater necessity than either of those driving him on, and, opening the gate, he quickly knocked upon the door. It was low but heavy, a repeated and insistent knock, like the muffled tattoo of a drum, and at last Miss Grayson answered, opening the door a scant four inches and staring out with bright eyes.
"Mr. Prescott!" she exclaimed, "it is you! You again! Ah, I have warned you and for your own good, too! You cannot enter here!"
"But I must come in," he replied; "and it is for my own good, too, as well as yours and Miss Catherwood's."
She looked at him with searching inquiry.
"Don't you see that I am freezing on your doorstep?" he said humourously.
He saw her frown plainly by the faint flicker of the firelight, and knew she did not relish a jest at such a time.