The idea, moreover, proved suggestive. If there was no probability of being provided with the nimbus of Juno, there was the possibility of shadowing himself under the nimbus of night. Darkness once on, he might enter the house, reach his chamber unperceived, and thus escape the unpleasant exposure he so much dreaded.
Smythje stopped, looked at his guide, looked at the sun, and lastly at his naked knees—now, from the enfeebled state of his limbs, oscillating towards each other.
Mount Welcome was in sight. The guide was about to leave him; and, therefore, in whatever way he might choose to act, there would be no witness.
Just then the Maroon made his adieus, and the ci-devant sportsman was left to himself.
Once more he scanned the sun, and consulted his watch. In two hours it would be twilight. The crepusculous interval would enable him to approach the house; and in the first moments of darkness—before the lamps were lit—he might enter unobserved—or, at all events, his plight might not very plainly be perceived.
The scheme was feasible, and having determined to adopt it, Smythje cowered down in the covert, and awaited the setting of the sun.
He counted the hours, the half-hours, and minutes—he listened to the voices coming up from the negro village—he watched the bright-winged birds that fluttered among the branches overhead, and envied them their complete plumage.
Notwithstanding many rare sights and sweet sounds that reached him, the two hours spent in his secret lair were not passed pleasantly—solicitude about the success of his scheme robbing him of all zest for the enjoyment of that fair scene that surrounded him.
The hour of action drew nigh. The sun went down over the opposite ridge, where lay Montagu Castle, his own domain. The twilight, like a purple curtain, was gently drawn over the valley of Mount Welcome. It was time to start.
Smythje rose to his feet; and, after making a reconnoissance of the ground before him, set off in the direction of the house.