Twilight had, by this time, nearly disappeared.  Still, enough remained to enable Maud to perceive that many were watching for her, either at the windows above the cliff, or through different parts of the stockades.  The distance was so small, that it might have been possible, by raising the voice, even to converse; but this would be an experiment too hazardous, as some hostile scouts, at that hour might very well be fearfully near.

“I see nothing, Miss Maud,” observed Joel, after taking a good look around him.  “By keeping the path that follows the edge of the brook, though it is so crooked, we shall be certain of good walking, and shall be half hid by the bushes.  It’s best to walk quick, and to be silent.”

Maud bade him go on, waiting herself behind a tree, to let the two men precede her a short distance.  This was done, and the major stole up to her side unseen.  A few words of explanation passed, when the young lady ran after her guides, leaving Robert Willoughby seated on a log.  It was a breathless moment to Maud, that in which she was passing this bit of open land.  But the distance was so short, that it was soon gotten over; and the three found themselves beneath the cliff.  Here they passed the spring, and following a path which led from it, turned the edge of the rocks, and ascended to the foot of the stockades.  It remained to turn these also, in order to reach the so recently suspended gates.  As Maud passed swiftly along, almost brushing the timbers with her dress, she saw, in the dim light, fifty faces looking at her, and thrust between the timbers; but she paused not, spoke not—­scarcely breathed.  A profound stillness reigned on the Knoll; but when Joel arrived at the gate, it was instantly opened, and he glided in.  Not so with Mike, who stopped and waited until she he had been in quest of entered before him, and was in safety.

Maud found herself in her mother’s arms, the instant the gate was passed.  Mrs. Willoughby had been at the angle of the cliff, had followed her child, in her swift progress round the stockade, and was ready to receive her, the moment she entered.  Beulah came next, and then the captain embraced, kissed, wept over, and scolded his little favourite.

“No reproaches now, Hugh”—­said the more considerate wife, and gentle woman—­“Maud has done no more than has long been her custom, and no one could have foreseen what has happened.”

“Mother—­father”—­said Maud, almost gasping for breath—­“let us bless God for my safety, and for the safety of all that are dear to us—­thank you, dear Mr. Woods—­there is a kiss, to thank you—­now let us go into the house; I have much to tell you—­come dear sir—­come dearest mother, do not lose a moment; let us all go to the library.”