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Under the Red Robe by Stanley John Weyman
page 33 of 259 (12%)
despair, and saved themselves across the border. But I have
always valued myself on my fidelity, and I did not shrink. If
not to-day, to-morrow; if not this time, next time. The dice do
not always turn up aces. Bracing myself, therefore, to the
occasion, I crept, as soon as the house was quiet, to the window,
a small, square, open lattice, much cobwebbed, and partly stuffed
with hay. I looked out. The village seemed to be asleep. The
dark branches of trees hung a few feet away, and almost obscured
a grey, cloudy sky, through which a wet moon sailed drearily.
Looking downwards, I could at first see nothing; but as my eyes
grew used to the darkness--I had only just put out my rushlight--
I made out the stable door and the shadowy outlines of the
lean-to roof.

I had hoped for this, for I could now keep watch, and learn at
least whether Cocheforet left before morning. If he did not, I
should know he was still here. If he did, I should be the better
for seeing his features, and learning, perhaps, other things that
might be of use to me in the future.

Making up my mind to the uncomfortable, I sat down on the floor
by the lattice, and began a vigil that might last, I knew, until
morning. It did last about an hour, at the end of which time I
heard whispering below, then footsteps; then, as some persons
turned a corner, a voice speaking aloud and carelessly. I could
not catch the words or meaning, but the voice was a gentleman's,
and its bold accents and masterful tone left me in no doubt that
the speaker was M. de Cocheforet himself. Hoping to learn more,
I pressed my face nearer to the opening, and had just made out
through the gloom two figures--one that of a tall, slight man,
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