"Never a trace of them has there been since they were released from
prison, never a trace. Out of the country they both went, so we
think, and that's as far as we know. It was the death-blow to
Squire, it was; but he died trusting in Master Derrick. Left him all
his money too, did Squire; 'as a proof,' so Squire said. Yes, the
Chase went to your father, the Major, Master Robin, him being eldest
son, my dear, but the money's waiting for Master Derrick when he
comes home."
The old woman's voice ceased, and there was silence. In the little
room dusk had fallen while she had been speaking, for her story had
been a long one. The firelight lit up the white faces of the four
listeners, but none of them spoke: even Peter for once had nothing to
say. Jan slipped her hand into Robin's, and he held it fast. "Poor
Uncle Derrick!" said the little girl in a quivering voice, after a
few minutes had passed.
"And sure, why _poor_?" Brownie's voice was husky but it was firm
still. "'Twas naught of wrong that he did; nor Hooker, neither, for
we _know_. They'll be coming back, an' wrongful punishment cannot
smirch the innocent, my dears. Please God, I shall see them, too;
please God they'll come in my time; but that they will come back, I
_know_." There was silence again for a minute or two, and then the
spell that seemed laid on the little group by the telling of the old
woman's story was suddenly broken by a sound outside. Old Brown
clamped noisily into the kitchen, kicking the earth from his boots on
the step outside. "I've been down to th' hut, wife," said he, "but
the young folks hain't thereabouts. Happen ye know where they'll be?"
"We're here!" The four came out of the shadows, feeling glad in a
way of the interruption, for the story was too dreadfully sad to them
to be thought of too long. "D'you want us, Brown?" asked Robin.
"Aye, sir, 'tis a message. There's a telegraft come this night.
Your mother, sir, would have spoke to you herself, she bid me say,
but she's right-down busy. The Major's expecting leave, and----"
"Dad!" Three voices were raised in excited chorus.
"Aye, my dears, 'tis good news, that's certain. He's hoping to be
home come Saturday. Your mother, sir, she was fair set about at
first on account of the scarlet fever, but she's talked it over with
the Doctor. They've arranged to move the young gentleman into the
old wing. 'We'll disinfect the rest of the house for three whole
days,' so madam said, and Doctor, he agreed; 'and then 'twill be
right enow,' said madam, 'what wi' sulphur-burning, and such like.'
Aye, they've fires lighted, and 'tis all under way, and they're
moving Master Dick this night." The old man hobbled to his favourite
chair.
"Hurrah, but it's late!" Robin got up and shook himself. "We must
go back to camp and see that the fire hasn't burned too low. We'll
soon boil up a dixie and get some supper ready. Coming?" he called
to the others.
But as the four made their way across the Island to the camp in the
dusk they spoke not at all. Brownie's story had made such a deep
impression on every one of them that they hardly knew how to mention
it even to each other. Even after Jan had been escorted home, and
supper was over, and the boys lay stretched in the blue-darkness of
the summer night, the topic upper-most in their minds was not touched
upon between them.
"Jolly ripping that Dad's coming home, anyway," said Peter at last.
"Rather," said Robin. Then a silence fell. The three boys lay under
the stars and thought before finally they fell asleep; each one was
thinking too of the same thing, of Uncle Derrick's story.
"I saw my light again last night," announced Jan next morning as she
fried up the remains of some cold potatoes for a breakfast dish,
wielding the frying-pan with dexterous hand.
"You _did_?" All the boys were eagerly listening.
"In exactly the same place, but a brighter light this time; and it
lasted longer, too. It didn't come and go like before; it stayed
alight till ten o'clock, and then went out, for I timed it by my
watch."
"Show us whereabouts," suggested Peter.
"I can, for I looked particularly. It was a pretty dark night, but
the moon came out from behind a cloud once, and I could make out the
outline of the Chase. The light was from the last window of the east
wing. I'm going when breakfast's done, to look at the place again."
But when at last breakfast _was_ over the results of the
investigation seemed to be rather disappointing, considered in the
light of a possible mystery. The window in question looked over the
river, and could plainly be seen from the Island. A white curtain
stretched across the panes, and a fern plant stood on a table in the
window. "I don't think there's much reason why there shouldn't be a
light from _that_ room _every_ night of the year without causing
mysteries," announced Donald. "It's plainly a bedroom, or something!"
But the three Vaughans were staring open-mouthed. "It's--why it must
be the room they've moved Dick into!" remarked Peter at last. "It
looks as though it's come alive in the night, doesn't it? It gave me
quite a shock; _that's_ why you saw the light last night, Jan--no
mystery at all!"
"But," Jan was persistent, "even if that _does_ explain last night's
light--and I suppose it does,--well, it _doesn't_ explain one _bit_
the light that I saw on the first night of the camp!"