A slight sound seemed to come from the darkness about me. I bent forward and listened. Someone was evidently approaching, making his way toward the mansion. I could hear the quick crunch of the sand under the advancing feet, though the night had grown inky black and I could distinguish no figure in the gloom. Throwing myself flat upon the sand, I waited for the coming traveler.
The sound came nearer and passed where I lay, invisible in the night. Just as it moved swiftly by, there was a blinding flash of lightning, illuminating the darkness with dazzling brilliancy, and throwing into relief the stout form of Father Francis, as with head bent down to avoid the force of the wind, he stood motionless, his back to me, waiting for the crash of the thunder to die away. What was the priest doing here, at this time of night and in such a gale? It must be something of importance that called him forth, for he loved his own ease too well to sally out in the storm and tempest without good cause.
Like a flash I sprang to my feet, drawing my sword as I did so; and as he stood there motionless, before he could turn, I was upon him. Catching the weapon by the blade, I brought the heavy hilt upon his head, and with a dull thud, he fell to the ground.
Kneeling beside him, I ran my hand over his garments as he lay there. Perhaps he had some paper or message that he was carrying, which would be of use, could I but discover it. Ah! I touched a square oblong package in the folds of his cassock, and running my hand on the inside, I drew it out. They were papers most probably, tied up securely, with a fold of canvass around them. Was there aught else there? I searched thoroughly, but could find nothing further, though I felt over every inch of his robe.
As I straightened myself up the storm broke, and a perfect torrent of rain poured down upon me. Hastily sheathing my sword, I left the priest where he was, and made for the house in a run, the package clutched in my hand. Had it not been for the light that streamed from the windows, I would never have found it in the darkness; but I reached the porch, after a brief dash of a few minutes, the wind tugging and fighting at my heels as if to impede my progress, loath to see me escape from its fury.
Hastily slipping the bundle in my doublet, I stepped upon the veranda and passed into the hall. DeNortier, pale and distraught, was standing in the door, surveying with lusterless eye the storm.
"'Tis an awful gale," he said, on perceiving me. "See the surf," and he pointed out to where the great waves pitched and tossed below us.
"Terrible," I answered. "The wind roars like the culverins of a fleet."
Passing him, I made my way up to my own room. Lighting the candle and fastening the door, I looked around me. All was quiet and silent, and going to the window, I drew the curtain across it. Then seating myself under the light, while the storm howled and roared outside, I cut the fastenings and opened the package.
Drawing out a paper, I looked at it. It was a brief account of the coming of Hampden to the title and estate of his uncle, written by someone evidently well acquainted with the state of affairs which existed.