had trusted him implicitly: could he bring himself to
violate Warde's confidence without giving the man notice?

However, what he might have done under pressure must remain a matter of
surmise. At this moment a third path became visible. And down it John
rushed, without consideration as to where it might lead. The one thing
plain at this crisis was the certainty that he had discovered a plan of
action which would save two things he valued supremely--his friendship
for Caesar and his word of honour.

Here we are to liberty to speculate what John would have done had he
considered dispassionately the consequences of an action to be
accomplished at once or not at all. But he had not time to consider
anything except the fact that action would put to rout some very
tormenting thoughts.

He crumpled his bed, disarranged his room, and put on a cap and a thin
overcoat, as all lights in the boys' side of the Manor were
extinguished. Then he stole out of his room, and crept to the window at
the end of the passage. A moment later, he had squeezed through it, and
was standing upon the sill outside, gazing fearfully at the void
beneath, and the distance between the sill and the branch in front of
him. Afterwards, he confessed that this moment was the most difficult.
He was an active boy, but he had never jumped such a chasm. If he
missed the bough----

To hesitate meant shameful retreat. John felt the sweat break upon him;
craven fear clutched his heart-strings, and set them a-jangling.

He jumped.

The ease with which he caught the branch was such a physical relief that
he almost forgot his errand. He slid quietly down the tree, pausing as
he reached the bottom of it. The moon was just rising above the horizon,
but under the trees the darkness was Stygian. John pushed quietly
through the shrubberies, treading as lightly as possible. Every moment
he expected to see the flash of a lantern, to hear Warde's voice, to
feel an arresting hand upon the shoulder. It was quite impossible to
guess with any reasonable accuracy what part of the garden Warde had
selected for a hiding-place. Very soon he reached the edge of the
shrubbery, and gazed keenly into the moonlit, park-like meadow below
him. Peer as he might, he could see no trace of Warde. A dozen trees
might conceal him. Perhaps with the omniscience of the house-master, he
had divined that the wicket-gate was the ultimate place of egress.
Perhaps the wicket had been used for a si