“And my father—­you won’t tell my father?” I said, dolefully.

Mr. Cobbe replied by a mute but expressive piece of pantomime and took me back to the bar, where the good landlady ratified all that her husband had promised in her name.

The stars shone brightly as I went home, and there was no moon.  The town was intensely silent, and the road intensely solitary.  I met no one on my way; let myself quietly in, and stole up to my bed-room in the dark.

It was already late; but I was restless and weary—­too restless to sleep, and too weary to read.  I could not detach myself from the impressions of the day; and I longed for the morning, that I might learn the fate of my watch, and the condition of the Chevalier.

At length, after some hours of wakefulness, I dropped into a profound and dreamless sleep.

* * * * *

CHAPTER IV.

THE CHEVALIER MAKES HIS LAST EXIT.

All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players: 
They have their exits and their entrances.

        As You Like It.

I was waked by my father’s voice calling to me from the garden, and so started up with that strange and sudden sense of trouble which most of us have experienced at some time or other in our lives.

“Nine o’clock, Basil,” cried my father.  “Nine o’clock—­come down directly, sir!”

I sprang out of bed, and for some seconds could remember nothing of what had happened; but when I looked out of the window and saw my father in his dressing-gown and slippers walking up and down the sunny path with his hands behind his back and his eyes fixed on the ground, it all flashed suddenly upon me.  To plunge into my bath, dress, run down, and join him in the garden, was the work of but a few minutes.

“Good-morning, sir,” I said, breathlessly.

He stopped short in his walk, and looked at me from head to foot.

“Humph!” said he, “you have dressed quickly....”

“Yes, sir; I was startled to find myself so late.”

“So quickly,” he continued, “that you have forgotten your watch.”

I felt my face burn.  I had not a word to answer.

“I suppose,” said he, “you thought I should not find it out?”

“I had hoped to recover it first,” I replied, falteringly; “but....”

“But you may make up your mind to the loss of it, sir; and serve you rightly, too,” interposed my father.  “I can tell you, for your satisfaction, that the man’s clothes have been thoroughly examined, and that your watch has not been found.  No doubt it lay somewhere on the table, and was stolen in the confusion.”

I hung my head.  I could have wept for vexation.

My father laughed sardonically.

“Well, Master Basil,” he said, “the loss is yours, and yours only.  You won’t get another watch from me, I promise you.”