Now he addresses the lord of the manor, and puts to him questions regarding his identity that soon establish the fact.
“Put her on that 'ere line—an’ the time.”
Cereal hastily signs his name.
He realizes that a number of people are watching him curiously, and with a great effort maintains his self possession. His wonderful nerve serves him well in such an emergency as this. As if the matter is of little importance he thrusts the message unopened into his pocket and goes on chatting with the gentleman at his side.
“Well done!” says Aleck in admiration, for his eyes can see that the other is eager to get at the message.
Presently Craig misses him.
The library is at the back of the house. He has been in it before during the evening. From the open windows one can look out upon the lake, and the scene in the misty moonlight is one to conjure up all manner of romance. Moonlight, the gentle undulations of water, and love seem to go hand in hand.
To this quarter Aleck bends his steps, wondering if the operator went thither. The door of the library is open, and, looking in, he sees Samson Cereal. The operator is alone. He stands under the gas jet, and has with trembling hands torn the end from the little buff envelope.
He draws out the inclosure, and then, as if unable to look at it, drops his hand. This weakness is but momentary. With a harsh laugh he finally raises his hand, and his eyes take in the contents of the message.
Aleck sees him stagger back and clap a hand across his forehead, while to his ears float the words—how sadly they sound, with that soft music swelling from the retreat near by: