"Nay," I put in quickly, "'tis not mine. 'Twas his, and now is yours by right. Therefore keep it."
"What, his?--the--the devil's?"
"Yes; and, look you, if you search the way he fled you will, methinks, find more of it. That was the falling fire you saw. His pockets bulged with gold."
So saying, I picked my sword up from the ground, and, leaving Ratlaw gaping with amazement, sped for home.
How I ran I know not, for my head was singing like a sea-shell, and my thoughts (if thoughts they could be called) were such a seething medley as it beats me to describe aright. And thus it came about that, scarce knowing how (as one but half-awake, that is), I reached The Havering gates. There I stopped a moment; then, passing through, crept like a thief into the house, and, having gently closed the door behind me, listened. All was silent, save for the mournful ticking of the great hall clock, which in such awful stillness broke on me like a death-knell.
Pressing both hands upon my throbbing head, I tried to think. My father might perhaps yet be up there wrestling with his trouble. If so, I must be ready with that great surprise which could not fail to put his care to flight.
Filled with this hopeful thought, I lit a candle, brought the Black Box forth, untied the binding cord, and opened it. Then, with a throttled cry, I staggered back, as though a blow had struck me. The box was empty! Ferguson had put the papers in his pocket--not in this; and, in his hurried flight, had left behind what was to me of no more value than a stone!
I could have cursed, or wept, or both, at such a bitter mockery as that; but I did neither. For a moment I stood staring blankly at the gaping box; then, having taken off my shoes, I seized the faithless thing, and, stealing silently upstairs, knocked at the study door. No answer came. I tried the latch. The door was locked. Strange! I had never known my father lock his door by night, though, to be sure, he sometimes did so in the day-time when he did not wish to be disturbed. I knocked again--much louder. Still no answer; then, listening, I heard a stealthy, creeping noise within. I did not wait a moment longer; hurling myself upon the door, I drove it crashing inwards.
Even as I thus burst in, the figure of a man shot past me, and, springing through the open casement, disappeared. Running to the window I looked forth, and saw the black, satanic form of Tubal Ammon fleeing down the moonlit garden. I watched him till he vanished like an evil shadow in the darkness of the trees; then, turning slowly, cast a fearful glance about the room.
At first I could make nothing out, for the candle had burned down into its socket, and all was dark; but, as I left the window, a straggling moonbeam, struggling through the chestnut tree (that fatal chestnut tree!), fell on a silvery patch above a high-backed chair. Slowly, with feet of lead, I moved towards it for a step or two, then stopped. My father sat there, with bowed head, as though he slumbered. What!--had he slept through such a turmoil?