thief at midnight, she will know why. Her
poor heart will interpret my feelings, and give one beat for me."

Brace Norton's thoughts, it must be owned, were of a romantic tendency,
but, perhaps, it was excusable at such a time; and, nerving himself, he
stood perfectly motionless, waiting for the man, whoever he was, to
speak.

But it was dark; and, had it been possible, Brace Norton, as he stood
there, for some few minutes, with the new-comer apparently gazing full
in his face, would have seen that the man's gaze was vacant and strange,
and that his eyes failed to pierce the gloom around.

"At last!"

Those two words seemed to be breathed, as it were, close to Brace
Norton's ear, as, almost brushing him, the figure came close to where he
stood, listened, apparently, for a few moments, and then, drawing
himself up, climbed the low oak palings, and began to thread his way
amongst the trees.

"At last!" What did that mean? Who was this? No servant or keeper,
evidently. Was he poacher? He had no gun, and he was alone, which fact
also militated against his being burglar.

There is no concealing the fact: Brace Norton was glad of the excuse for
getting once--even but for a few minutes--close to the house, with the
hope of seeing if only her window; and, telling himself that this
nocturnal visitor could mean no good towards the inhabitants of the
Castle, he, too, softly climbed the palings, and tried to follow the
figure.

If he could only have some opportunity given him of showing his zeal--of
rescuing somebody from danger! Or could it be--was this to be--an
endeavour to carry off Isa? His heart beat swiftly, and his breath came
thick and fast for a few seconds, till his better sense prevailed, and
he smiled at the silly romance that, he told himself, he had allowed to
obtain entrance to his breast.

But, meanwhile, he had pressed cautiously on, peering anxiously before
him, and trying hard to make out the direction the figure had taken. In
vain, though: the dark shadow had passed amongst the trees, and was
gone. He tried in different directions, but with only one result--
ill-success; and, for a moment, as he stood upon the grass, listening
eagerly, he felt disposed to place all to imagination. He knew, though,
that it was not; and determining to go nearer to the house, he drew
forth his watch, and tried to make out the hour.

That, however, was impossible; so, opening it, he passed his fingers
over t