"Stop!" I entreated. "In the first place, Olivant is not there; he's gone to London."
"Are you sure?" He looked up at me quickly.
"I have seen him start myself," I assured him. "This is your opportunity; let him come back to find the bird flown. If the child were here, she would be able to explain to you so much better than I can—would be able to tell you that I am her friend and yours—fighting for you both, for a reason you will never understand. You must take her away, out of that frightful house; you must marry her—and face the world with her."
"Why—has she told you—about me?" He had got to his feet, and was looking at me curiously. "What has she told you?"
"That she loves you," I replied simply. "I that am but a poor servant—a nobody in the world—tell you this, and beg you with all the strength that is in me to take her away. She will go gladly; she will make your life what it could never be without her."
"You're a strange man," he said wonderingly. "But if she trusts you—well, so will I. What is best to be done?"
"There is another man in the house—left behind by Olivant," I replied eagerly—"and he will have his instructions, no doubt, to be on guard. If you will wait till darkness sets in, I will arrange that Miss Barbara shall slip out of the house, and meet you where you like. It must be to-night; to-morrow will be too late."
"Why could she not come earlier?" demanded the boy. "There is the rest of the day before us; surely she could slip away?"
"And be called for by her father, or watched and followed by the man Dawkins," I reminded him. "No; if she slips away after her father and Dawkins have settled down for the evening, there will be time for you to get to the junction, and get a train from there to London; she will not be missed for hours—perhaps not till the morning—and then pursuit would be useless. Give me a message to her, and I will go back at once and deliver it."
"Could you not manage to bring her to me, Tinman?" he suggested suddenly. "If they were watching, it would not do for me to come too near the house, and I do not like the thought of her wandering about in the darkness by herself."