“There, you can amuse yourself now as much as you like,” said Temple, with a humor that Philip did not by any means appreciate. “You’ll have a nice, easy time, with nothing to do.”
He turned and left the hut, relieving Philip of his presence, which was one comfort, but did not go very far.
As my readers will conclude, Philip began to work his wrists up and down, vainly endeavoring to unloose the rope, but only succeeded in hurting himself. Next he tried his feet, but they, also, were securely confined.
It was a righteous retribution for the trick he had played on Harry Gilbert. He was being paid off in his own coin. Though his conscience was not particularly sensitive, it did occur to him that he was in precisely the same condition as the boy whom he and Congreve had left alone in the dark wood, fully expecting that he would have to remain all night.
But even then he could not be said to feel deep regret for his unworthy act. He was sensible of the inconvenience to which he was subjected by his constrained position, and began to chafe and fret under it.
“I wonder how long he’s going to leave me here?” thought Philip, though, in truth, he hardly knew whether he wanted Temple to return or not.
“Just as soon as I get away, I’ll ask pa to have him arrested. I wouldn’t mind seeing him hung.”
An hour passed—about the longest hour Philip had ever known. At length his eager ears discerned steps outside the hut. It might be a friend! At any rate, he would call, and perhaps the call would bring rescue.
“Hello, there!” he called out. “Come in; I need help!”