“That man overheard all Marie told us,” I said.
“I pray Heaven no, Claud,” replied my brother. “If he did, many will be the days ere we shall be permitted to see her again, except, at least, in his or her presence. I tell you, brother,” he added, “if it were not for leaving Marie in Ebberfeld’s power, I should vote for at once laying our heads together to run from here.”
“I am of the same opinion; but where could we go?” said I.
“Anywhere. To the sea, to the woods, or, if Prabu would take us with him, ‘nest-hunting.’”
CHAPTER IV.
THE ROBBERY AND ABDUCTION OF MARIE.
A fortnight had elapsed since Mynheer had taken Marie from our room. His Javanese highness had left about a week, and we had been kept from both sight and speech with our cousin, an exclusion that much vexed us. It was night, and my brother and I, while undressing for bed, were speculating as to the possibility of eluding our guardian’s vigilance.
“I tell you what, Claud,” said Martin, as he stepped into bed, “I will see Marie, if I die for it—aye, and talk to her, too.”
“A brave resolution; but how? We have been making the effort a whole fortnight, and as yet have not even discovered in what part of the house she is confined.”
“Let me sleep upon it, and I will tell you in the morning,” replied Martin, and not another word could I get from him, so I also endeavored to “sleep upon it;” but after a couple of hours, finding that I was still restless, and my eyes would not keep closed, I arose, and, as it was a bright moonlight night, determined to stroll about the grounds. Scarcely, however, had I stepped out, than I fancied I could hear footfalls, and the murmuring of whispering voices. Alarmed, for, whoever they were, they could not be there for any honest purpose, I crept into the shrubbery, where we had first discovered Marie, and from thence, by the light of the moon, saw four half-naked natives, each with a glittering creese by his side, approaching the window; but guess my astonishment when, in the one who was evidently their leader, I recognized the hunchback snake-charmer, the man whom my brother and I both regarded as the cause of our father’s death. My first impulse was to rush forward and seize the fellow by the throat, my second to shout to Martin; but an instant’s reflection showed me that either would be an act of madness, and I determined to raise an alarm only in the event of their attempting to harm my brother.
Then I began to ponder what could be their object—perhaps to murder or kidnap us boys; for Marie’s story about Ebberfeld, and the advantages he would derive from our death, was vivid in my memory. But no; they were ordinary vulgar robbers, without the least embellishment of romance, for the repulsive little wen-necked hunchback, taking a handful of earth from a bag suspended round his neck, threw it scatteringly into the room. “Good,” he said to his companions; “it fell upon their beds; they will sleep till the morning.”