When Everell awoke, bright day was shining in through the single window and the open doorway, and John Tarby was preparing a breakfast of eggs and bacon. Everell, despite his now eager appetite and his impatience to be about his purpose, dressed himself with care, performing his toilet with the aid of the stream, and putting on fresh linen and stockings. He then ate heartily, and, having given his host a sufficient idea of where he wished to spend his day, set forth in Tarby’s company, that the poacher might show him the way by daylight. Taking care to note every landmark, Everell arrived finally in that portion of the Foxwell park which lay near the mansion. Tarby here took his leave, to attend to his own affairs, making a rendezvous with his guest in case the latter should not have returned to the cottage by nightfall—for it was not certain that he could find his way after dark at the first attempt.
Everell strolled on till the gables of Foxwell Court appeared through the trees. He found a convenient spot where he could sit and observe the terrace that stretched between the house and the park. His highest hope was that the young lady would, sooner or later, come to take the air upon the terrace and extend her walk into the park.
He sat amidst bracken, peering out through countless small openings among the browning leaves and stems. A hundred times he changed his position, and a hundred sighs of impatience escaped him, before anything occurred to break the monotony of his watch. And when, toward noon, the great door of the house opened, and figures in feminine garb appeared, they proved to be only the two ladies in whom he was not interested. They sauntered along the terrace, arm in arm, talking and laughing, making a graceful picture against the broken balustrade, or on the wide steps between the moss-covered, crumbling flower-pots. They were joined presently by the stouter gentleman, and at last by the taller. Finally, after a half-hour of mirthful chatter, the four went indoors again, and left the terrace empty for another long time of waiting.
In the afternoon the same four appeared on horseback in the lane which served as the bridle-path from the courtyard side of the house to the park. Entering the park at some distance from Everett’s hiding-place, they were soon lost to his view among the trees. If she should appear now, while they were absent! As time lengthened, he meditated going boldly to the house and asking for her. But he forced himself to patience, only moving to another watching-place a few yards away. He had scarcely done so, and resumed his gaze, when he beheld her standing upon the steps of the house.
He sat perfectly still, as if the least alarm might frighten her away. She advanced slowly down the terrace, looked West, then East, then into the park. Would that those inviting shades might lure her!—would that she might feel and obey the beckoning of his heart! But she turned and walked to the Western end of the terrace, and stood for awhile in admiration of the soft landscape and distant mountains. Presently he saw her look sharply toward the park, as if her attention had been suddenly, and not pleasantly, drawn that way. He heard the riders, who were doubtless coming back, and would pass near her in going through the lane. She turned and moved toward the opposite end of the terrace—evidently to avoid them. She did not stop till she was looking on the neglected garden from the top of the steps descending to it. There she stood for a few moments, contemplating the scene; then passed down the steps, disappearing from view.
Everell took his resolution: sprang from his place, and, bending his body forward, dashed through bracken and behind trees to the glen-side. He darted along the crest, reached the gate in the wall, and saw the young lady sauntering amidst the trees and shrubbery. He glided swiftly forth, and was on his knee, pressing her hand to his lips, ere she could do more than utter a low cry of astonishment.
The surprise in her face was quickly followed by pleasure; but consciousness came a moment later, with a rush of scarlet to her cheeks and a look of faint reproof and vague apprehension to her eyes.
“Good heaven, sir,” she said, in a low voice, “I never dreamed of seeing you again!”
“Fear nothing,” he replied, in a tone as guarded as hers; “we cannot be observed here—the shrubbery is all around us.—I have come to thank you for the warning you gave me at the inn yesterday.”