“How good-natured you are to me,” said he to Hardy, as he was trying vainly to entertain him; “but if you knew—” Here he stopped short, for the bell for evening prayer rang, and they all took their places, and knelt down. After prayers, as they were going to bed, Loveit stopped Tarlton,—“Well!” asked he, in an inquiring manner, fixing his eyes upon him.
“Well!” replied Tarlton, in an audacious tone, as if he meant to set his inquiring eye at defiance.
“What do you mean to do to-night?”
“To go to sleep, as you do, I suppose,” replied Tarlton, turning away abruptly, and whistling as he walked off.
“Oh, he has certainly changed his mind!” said Loveit to himself, “else he could not whistle.”
About ten minutes after this, as he and Hardy were undressing, Hardy suddenly recollected that he had left his new kite out upon the grass. “Oh,” said he, “it will be quite spoiled before morning!”
“Call Tom,” said Loveit, “and bid him bring it in for you in a minute.” They both went to the top of the stairs to call Tom; no one answered. They called again louder, “Is Tom below?”
“I’m here,” answered he at last, coming out of Tarlton’s room with a look of mixed embarrassment and effrontery. And as he was receiving Hardy’s commission, Loveit saw the corner of the blue handkerchief hanging out of his pocket. This excited fresh suspicions in Loveit’s mind; but, without saying one word, he immediately stationed himself at the window in his room, which looked out towards the lane; and, as the moon was risen, he could see if anyone passed that way.
“What are you doing there?” said Hardy, after he had been watching some time; “why don’t you come to bed?” Loveit returned no answer, but continued standing at the window. Nor did he watch long in vain. Presently he saw Tom gliding slowly along a by-path, and get over the gate into the lane.
“He’s gone to do it!” exclaimed Loveit aloud, with an emotion which he could not command.