“If I can get away at eleven o’clock,” he said to himself, “I shall reach Lillebonne by midnight, get some supper there, and at three o’clock in the morning arrive at the sacred spot. With the first light of dawn I shall put the strong-box of the monks into my pocket—yes: into my pocket. I’ve no need of the Corbus, or anyone else.”
But at half-past ten he was practically at the same point.
Loose though the ropes were, he could not free his foot from them, and he was beginning to give up hope when of a sudden he thought he heard a slight noise which differed from all the whisperings that break the deep silence of the night, leaves that rustle, birds that flutter among the branches, murmurs of the breeze.
The noise came again; and he was certain that it came from the window he had opened, which Leonard had carelessly pushed to.
Then one side of the window seemed to be moving slowly forward.
Ralph looked at Beaumagnan. He too had heard the noise and was looking at the window.
Then the hot wax of the candle fell on Leonard’s hand; and he awoke. He looked at the bonds of the prisoners and the rope of the alarm and dropped off to sleep again. The noise, which had for the while ceased, came again—it was plain that the movements of their jailor were being carefully watched.
What was going on? It was evident that since the gate was locked someone must have climbed over the wall; and it must be someone familiar with the lighthouse who knew where to find a spot from which the broken glass had been cleared. Who? A peasant? A poacher? Was it a rescuer—some friend of Beaumagnan’s? Or was it just a prowler in the night?
A head appeared, indistinct in the darkness; and then the figure of a woman slipped easily over the sill which was at no great height from the ground.
Before he saw her face, Ralph knew that it was none other than Clarice!