This was on Scudamore's side of the creek,
and scarcely fifty yards below him. "He is waiting for an interview
with somebody," thought Scuddy: "if I could only get down to that little
shanty, perhaps I should hear some fine treason. The wind is the right
way to bring me every word he says."
Keeping in shelter when the traitor walked towards him, and stealing on
silently when his back was turned, the young sailor managed to ensconce
himself unseen in the rough little wattle shed made by his own hands for
the shelter of his patient, when a snow-storm had visited the valley of
the Canche last winter. Nothing could be better fitted for his present
purpose, inasmuch as his lurking-place could scarcely be descried from
below, being sheltered by two large trees and a screen of drooping
ivy, betwixt and below which it looked no more than a casual meeting
of bushes; while on the other hand the open space beneath it was curved
like a human ear, to catch the voice and forward it.
While Scudamore was waiting here and keenly watching everything, the
light began to falter, and the latest gleam of sunset trembled with the
breath of Spring among the buds and catkins. But the tall man continued
his long, firm stride, as if the watch in his pocket were the only thing
worth heeding. Until, as the shadows lost their lines and flowed into
the general depth, Carne sprang forward, and a horse and rider burst
into the silence of the grass and moss and trees.
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