"Rupert! You told me he was in bed."
"He was sent to bed. He must have got out of the window again. I am sure it is his voice. Oh, what will be done if it is found out?"
George Ryle swung himself on to the very narrow ledge under the window, contriving to hold on by his hands and toes, and thus obtained a view of the room.
"Yes, it is Rupert," said he, as he jumped down. "He is sitting talking to old Canham."
But the slightness of structure which allowed voices to be heard within the lodge also allowed them to be heard without. Ann Canham came hastening to the door, opened it a few inches, and stood peeping. Maude took the opportunity to slip past her into the room.
But no trace of her brother was there. Mark Canham was sitting in his usual invalid seat by the fire, smoking a pipe, his back towards the door.
"Where has he gone?" cried Maude.
"Where's who gone?" roughly spoke old Canham, without turning his head. "There ain't nobody here."
"Father, it's Miss Maude," interposed Ann Canham, closing the outer door, after allowing George to enter. "Who be you taking the young lady for?"
The old man, partly disabled by rheumatism, put down his pipe, and contrived to turn in his chair. "Eh, Miss Maude! Why, who'd ever have thought of seeing you to-night?"