But, as he was passing the window of the little bedroom, he was sure that he saw one of the curtains move.
“Aha!” he said to himself; “either a mouse or some human being was the cause of that. I do not believe there is anything inside that empty house to attract a hungry mouse, so I will be cautious in my movements, and maybe I shall make a discovery of some kind.”
He slipped off his low shoes, stepped noiselessly upon the veranda, keeping out of the range of the window so as not to cast a shadow within the room, and crept close up to the low sill.
The curtain had been thrust aside a trifle, so that he could easily see the interior of the room, and he beheld that which riveted him, spell-bound, to the spot, and drove every drop of blood to his heart.
He saw his father sitting close beside the window, so close, that his lightest movement caused one of his arms to hit the curtain.
On the floor, before him, there stood an open trunk, of medium size, which, apparently, had been pulled from beneath the bed, and from which Colonel Mapleson had taken a portfolio, while he was absorbed in looking over a package of letters which it contained.
He was very pale, and his son could perceive traces of deep emotion on his face, which seemed to have grown strangely old during the last two hours.
The young man drew back, after that one look, the color all gone from his own face, and his lips strangely compressed.
Without making the slightest noise, he stole from the veranda, picked up his shoes, and hurried from the place.
Outside the gate, he paused long enough to replace his shoes on his feet, when he again mounted his horse, and rode quietly away.