Somehow both of us knew that it was a question of herself.
Then suddenly upon this long period of to-and-fro, there fell (as it were) the very calmness of reconciliation. Peace seemed to be made, and I think that all of us were glad of it, for the suspense and an increasing tension of the nerves were telling on us all.
“They are shaking hands,” whispered my grandmother; “Mr. Richard has brought him to his senses. Fine I knew he would.”
“I wonder if they will put him in prison or let him off because of the family?” said Rob, adjusting the bandage about his wounded leg. “Anyway, I am glad of the bit tramp he got from my yard clogs!”
“Wheesht!” whispered my grandfather, inclining his ear in the direction of the parlour door. We all listened, but it was nothing. Not a murmur.
“They will be writing something—some bond or deed, most likely.”
“They are long about it,” said William Lyon uneasily.
The silence endured and still endured till an hour was passed. My grandfather fidgeted in his chair. At last he said in a low tone, “Lads, we have endured long enough. We must see what they are at. If we are wrong, I will bear the weight!”
As one man the four moved towards the door, through the keyhole of which a ray of light was stealing from the lamp that had been left on the table.
“Open!” cried my grandfather suddenly and loudly. But the door remained fast.