This side of the house lay so black against the fine, clear, starry dusk of the sky that it was impossible to see the outlines of the windows in it. I could manage, however, to faintly trace the line of the balcony. My heart beat fast as I thought that even now my darling might be standing at the window peering through it, waiting for the signal flash. Caudel was thinking of her too.
"The young lady, begging of your pardon, sir, must be a gal of uncommon spirit, Mr. Barclay."
"She loves me, Caudel, and love is the most animating of spirits, my friend."
"I dorn't doubt it, sir. What room will it be that she's to come out of?"
"The dining-room—a big, deserted apartment where the girls take their meals."
"'Tain't her bedroom, then?"
"No. She is to steal dressed from her bedroom to the salle-à-manger—"
"The Sally what, sir?"
"No matter, no matter," I answered.
I pulled out my watch, but there was no power in the starlight to reveal the dial-plate. All continued still as the tomb, saving at fitful intervals a low note of silken rustling that stole upon the ear with some tender, dream-like gushing of night-air, as though the atmosphere had been stirred by the sweep of a large, near, invisible pinion.