“Did you see her?” whispered Frank.
“No.” “I did—the shadow of the face, and the neck! Can I be mistaken?” And then, covering his face with his hands, he murmured to himself, “Misery! misery! So near and yet impossible?”
“Would it be the less impossible were you face to face? Let us go back. We cannot go up without detection, even if our going were of use. Come back, for God’s sake, ere all is lost! If you have seen her, as you say, you know at least that she is alive, and safe in his house—”
“As his mistress? or as his wife? Do I know that yet, Amyas, and can I depart until I know?” There was a few minutes’ silence, and then Amyas, making one last attempt to awaken Frank to the absurdity of the whole thing, and to laugh him, if possible, out of it, as argument had no effect—
“My dear fellow, I am very hungry and sleepy; and this bush is very prickly; and my boots are full of ants—”
“So are mine.—Look!” and Frank caught Amyas’s arm, and clenched it tight.
For round the farther corner of the house a dark cloaked figure stole gently, turning a look now and then upon the sleeping negroes, and came on right toward them.
“Did I not tell you she would come?” whispered Frank, in a triumphant tone.
Amyas was quite bewildered; and to his mind the apparition seemed magical, and Frank prophetic; for as the figure came nearer, incredulous as he tried to be, there was no denying that the shape and the walk were exactly those of her, to find whom they had crossed the Atlantic. True, the figure was somewhat taller; but then, “she must be grown since I saw her,” thought Amyas; and his heart for the moment beat as fiercely as Frank’s.
But what was that behind her? Her shadow against the white wall of the house. Not so. Another figure, cloaked likewise, but taller far, was following on her steps. It was a man’s. They could see that he wore a broad sombrero. It could not be Don Guzman, for he was at sea. Who then? Here was a mystery; perhaps a tragedy. And both brothers held their breaths, while Amyas felt whether his sword was loose in the sheath.
The Rose (if indeed it was she) was within ten yards of them, when she perceived that she was followed. She gave a little shriek. The cavalier sprang forward, lifted his hat courteously, and joined her, bowing low. The moonlight was full upon his face.
“It is Eustace, our cousin! How came he here, in the name of all the fiends?”
“Eustace! Then that is she, after all!” said Frank, forgetting everything else in her.
And now flashed across Amyas all that had passed between him and Eustace in the moorland inn, and Parracombe’s story, too, of the suspicious gipsy. Eustace had been beforehand with them, and warned Don Guzman! All was explained now: but how had he got hither?
“The devil, his master, sent him hither on a broomstick, I suppose: or what matter how? Here he is; and here we are, worse luck!” And, setting his teeth, Amyas awaited the end.
The two came on, talking earnestly, and walking at a slow pace, so that the brothers could hear every word.
“What shall we do now?” said Frank. “We have no right to be eavesdroppers.”
“But we must be, right or none.” And Amyas held him down firmly by the arm.