Now, all might have gone well for the little conspirators but for Evelyn
herself. But when the girls, tired with talking, tired with the spirit
of adventure, had lain down--Sylvia in Jasper's bed, and Evelyn in the
new little white couch which had been got so lovingly ready for
her--Sylvia, tired out, soon fell asleep; but Evelyn could not rest. She
was pleased, excited, relieved, but at the same time she had a curious
sense of disappointment about her. Her heart beat fast; she wondered
what was happening. It seemed to her that in this tiny room at the back
of the kitchen she was in a sort of prison. The sense of being in prison
was anything but pleasant to this child of a free country and of an
untrained mother. She slipped softly out of bed, and going to the
window, unbarred the heavy shutters and looked out.
There was a moon in the sky, and the garden stood in streaks of bright
light, and of dense shadow where the thick yew-hedge shut away the cold
rays of the moon. Evelyn's white little face was pressed against the
pane. Pilot stalked up and down outside, now and then baying to the
moon, now and then uttering a suspicious bark, but he never glanced in
the direction of the window out of which Evelyn looked. To the right of
the window lay the hens' run and hen-house which have already been
mentioned in these pages. Evelyn knew nothing about them, however; she
thought the view ugly and uninteresting. She disliked the thick
yew-hedge and the gnarled old yew-tree, and grumbling under her breath,
she turned from the window, having quite forgotten to close the
shutters. She got into bed now and fell asleep, little knowing what
mischief she had done.
For it was on that very same night that Mr. Leeson determined, not to
bury his bags of gold, but to dig them up. He was in a weak and
trembling condition, and what he considered the most terrible misfortune
had overpowered him, for the large sums which he had lately invested in
the Kilcolman Gold-mines had been irretrievably lost; the gold-mines
were nothing more nor less than a huge fraud, and all the shareholders
had lost their money. The daily papers were full of the fraudulent
scheme, and indignation was rife against the promoters of the company.
But little cared Mr. Leeson for that; one fact alone concerned him. He,
who grudged a penny to give his only child warmth and comfort, had by
one fell blow lost thousands of pounds. He was almost like a man bereft
of his senses. When Sylvia had left him that evening he had stood for
some time in the cold and desolate parlor; then he sat down and began to
think. His money was invested in more than one apparently promising
speculation. He meant to call it all in--to collect it all and leave the
country. He would not trust another sovereign in any bank in the
kingdom; he would guard his own money; above all things, he would guard
his precious savings. He had saved during his residence at The Priory
something over twelve hundred pounds. This money, which really
represented income, not capital, had been taken from what ought to have
been spent on the necessaries of life. More and more had he saved, until
a penny saved was more valuable in his eyes than any virtue under the
sun; and as he saved and added sovereign to sovereign, he buried his
money in canvas bags in the garden. But the time had come now to dig up
his gold and fly. There were three trunks in the box-room; he would
divide the money between the three. They were strong, covered with
cow-hide, old-fashioned, safe to endure even such a weight as was to be
put into them. He had made all his plans. He meant to take Sylvia, leave
The Priory, and go. What further savings he could effect in a foreign
land he knew not; he only wanted to be up and doing. This night, just
when the moon set, would be the very time for his purpose. He was
anxious--very anxious--about those fresh trunks which had been put into
the attic; there was something also about Sylvia which aroused his
suspicions. He felt certain that she was not quite so open with him as
formerly. Those suppers were too good, too delicate, too tasty to be
eaten without suspicion. At the best she was burning too much fuel. He
would go round to the kitchen this very night and see for himself that
the fire was out--dead out. Why should Sylvia warm herself by the kitchen
fire while he shivered fireless and almost candleless in the desolate
parlor? Soon after ten o'clock, therefore, he started on his rounds. He
went through room after room, looking into each; he had never been so
restless. He felt that a great and terrible task lay before him, and so
bewildered was his mind, so much was his balance shaken, that he thought
more of the twelve hundred pounds which he had saved than of the
thousands which he had lost by foolish investment. The desolate rooms in
the old Priory were all as they had ever been--scarcely any furniture in
some, no furniture at all in others; they were bare and bleak and ugly.
He went to the kitchen; the door was locked. He shook it and called
aloud; there was no answer.
"The child has gone to bed," he said to himself. "That is well."
He stooped down and tried to look through the keyhole; only darkness met
his gaze. He turned and shambled up-stairs. He turned the handle of
Sylvia's door. How wise had been Jasper when she had guessed that the
master of the house would do just what he did do!
"Sylvia!" he called aloud--"Sylvia!"
"Yes, father," said a voice which seemed to be quite the voice of his
daughter.
"Are you in bed?"
"Yes. Do you want me?"
"No; stay where you are. Good night."
"Good night," answered the pretended Sylvia.
But Mr. Leeson, as he went down-stairs, did not hear the stifled
laughter which was smothered in the pillows. He waited until the moon
was on the wane, and then, armed with the necessary implements, went
into the garden. He would certainly remove half the bags that night; the
remainder might wait until to-morrow.
He reached the garden; he arrived at the spot where his treasure was
buried, and then he stood still for a moment, and looked around him.
Everything seemed all right--silent as the grave--still as death. It was a
windless night; the moon would very soon set and there would be
darkness. He wanted darkness for his purpose. Pilot came shuffling up.
"Good dog! guard--guard. Good dog!" said his master.
Pilot had been trained to know what this meant, and he went immediately
and stood within a foot or two of the main entrance. Mr. Leeson did not
know that a gate at the back entrance was no longer firmly secured and
chained, as he imagined it to be. He thought himself safe, and began to
work.
He had dug up six of the bags, and there were six more yet to be
unearthed, when, suddenly raising his head, he saw a light in a window
on the ground floor. It was a very faint light, and seemed to come and
go.
He was much puzzled. His heart beat strangely; suspicion visited him.
Had any one seen him? If so he was lost. He dared not wait another
moment; he took two of the bags of gold and dragged them as best he
could into the house. He went out again to fetch another two, and yet
another two. He put the six canvas bags in the empty hall, and then
returning to the garden, he pressed down the earth and covered it with
gravel, and tried to make it look as if no one had been there--as if no
one had disturbed it. But he was trembling all over, and as he did so he
looked again at the flickering, broken light which came dimly, like
something gray and uncertain, from within the room.
He went on tiptoe softly, very softly, up to the window and peered in.
He could not see much--nothing, in fact, except one thing. The room had a
fire. That was enough for him.
Furious anger shook the man to his depths. He hurried into the house.