d perhaps
both of them were Lorna's. The Doones had been their own builders, for
no one should know their ins and outs; and of course their work was
clumsy. As for their windows, they stole them mostly from the houses
round about. But though the window was not very close, I might have
whispered long enough, before she would have answered me; frightened as
she was, no doubt by many a rude overture. And I durst not speak
aloud because I saw another watchman posted on the western cliff, and
commanding all the valley. And now this man (having no companion for
drinking or for gambling) espied me against the wall of the house, and
advanced to the brink, and challenged me.

"Who are you there? Answer! One, two, three; and I fire at thee."

The nozzle of his gun was pointed full upon me, as I could see, with the
moonlight striking on the barrel; he was not more than fifty yards off,
and now he began to reckon. Being almost desperate about it, I began to
whistle, wondering how far I should get before I lost my windpipe:
and as luck would have it, my lips fell into that strange tune I
had practised last; the one I had heard from Charlie. My mouth would
scarcely frame the notes, being parched with terror; but to my surprise,
the man fell back, dropped his gun, and saluted. Oh, sweetest of all
sweet melodies!

That tune was Carver Doone's passport (as I heard long afterwards),
which Charleworth Doone had imitated, for decoy of Lorna. The sentinel
took me for that vile Carver; who was like enough to be prowling there,
for private talk with Lorna; but not very likely to shout forth his
name, if it might be avoided. The watchman, perceiving the danger
perhaps of intruding on Carver's privacy, not only retired along the
cliff, but withdrew himself to good distance.

Meanwhile he had done me the kindest service; for Lorna came to the
window at once, to see what the cause of the shout was, and drew back
the curtain timidly. Then she opened the rough lattice; and then she
watched the cliff and trees; and then she sighed very sadly.

"Oh, Lorna, don't you know me?" I whispered from the side, being afraid
of startling her by appearing over suddenly.

Quick though she always was of thought, she knew me not from my whisper,
and was shutting the window hastily when I caught it back, and showed
myself.

"John!" she cried, yet with sense enough not to speak aloud: "oh, you
must be mad, John."

"As mad as a March hare," said I, "without