McAllister took the first watch, keeping himself awake with a book. Shortly after one o’clock he roused Barney, shaking him somewhat roughly, and saying in an undertone, “Come, me mon; it’s my turn the noo; and richt glad I am, for I can scarce keep my een open ony langer.”
They exchanged places. Sandy began to snore the moment he had stretched himself upon the lounge from which Barney had just risen; while the latter, weary with a hard day’s work, and heavy with sleep, yawned in his chair, shook himself, sat erect, and stretched his eyes wide open with a determined air, then rose and paced the room, but with a stealthy tread, lest he should disturb Ronald.
He meant to be faithful to his trust, had no mind to be conquered by sleep, but fatigue presently sent him back to his chair; half unconsciously his head dropped upon the table, his eyes closed, and in another moment he was wrapped in profound slumber.
The clock on the mantel struck two, but both he and his fellow-watcher remained deaf to the sound. The hands moved steadily on and pointed to ten minutes of three, as something—he did not know what—startled and awoke him.
He sat up and listened. There was a slight noise—where? in the parlor? Yes; as of some one stepping cautiously across the floor.
Barney sprang to his feet, dealt McAllister a smart blow to rouse him, seized a pistol, threw open the door into the hall, and rushed across into the parlor.
As he did so a man dashed past him to one of the front windows, which was open, as Barney at once perceived by the glimmer of light from the snow outside and the draught of cold air.
He sprang after the retreating figure and grasped it about the waist as it gained the window-sill.
But with a desperate effort, and a blow in the face that felled Nolan to the floor, the burglar freed himself, and springing lightly to the ground, sped away like the wind.
Barney was up in an instant and in hot pursuit, crying at the top of his voice, “Stop thafe! stop thafe!”