to his rising; and very soon his shoulders hid them, as he lean'd
out, drawing in the cold breath.

During the late racket I had forgot for a while my friend under the
sycamore, but now, looking that way, to my astonishment I saw him
risen from his bench and stealing across to the house opposite. I
say "stealing," for he kept all the way to the darker shadow of the
wall, and besides had a curious trailing motion with his left foot
as though the ankle of it had been wrung or badly hurt.

As soon as he was come beneath the window he stopped and called
softly--

"Hist!"

The bully gave a start and look'd down. I could tell by this motion
he did not look to find anyone in the bowling-green at that hour.
Indeed he had been watching the shaft of light thrown past him by
the room behind, and now moved so as to let it fall on the man that
addressed him.

The other stands close under the window, as if to avoid this, and
calls again--

"Hist!" says he, and beckons with a finger.

The man at the window still held his tongue (I suppose because those
in the room would hear him if he spoke), and so for a while the two
men studied one another in silence, as if considering their next
moves.