“I years you, misus,” said Aun’ Jinkey, stolidly continuing on her way.

Miss Lou, who had followed her mammy to the head of the stairs, heard this warning and returned to her room with a stern look.  She deemed it best to say nothing and give the impression that she could not endure the sights and sounds below stairs.

Mrs. Whately entered soon afterward and did her best to propitiate her niece.  Miss Lou pretended to be very weary and was glad to see that her aunt actually was so.  At last the matron said, “Well, I’ll go down once more and see if there is anything which I must attend to; then I shall try to rest a little while Madison is sleeping.  Such experiences as we’ve had wear one out fast.  I advise you, too, my dear, to sleep when you can.”

“Yes, aunt, I suppose you are right.  So much may happen to-morrow.”

Mrs. Whately soon retired, and Miss Lou, listening at her door a moment, knew that she was sleeping.  Then she returned to her own room, blew out her candle, opened the window softly and waited for Chunk.  “Zany,” she said, “sit in the dark there, and do not speak or let Chunk know you are here, unless permitted.”

Along the most secluded end of the house the piazza had not been built, a small lean-to extension taking its place.  An apartment was thus formed which could be entered from without as well as from within the dwelling, and here Mr. Baron maintained what was at once a business office and a study.  This extension was but one story high, with a roof which sloped to rising ground beyond.  Chunk knew that he could easily gain this roof, and from it that of the front piazza also.  When returning through the garden Aun’ Jinkey had whispered to him not to make the attempt to see Miss Lou until her light was extinguished.  Then she added the words that Mrs. Baron had just spoken to her and hastened tremblingly to her own chimney-corner.  Chunk made a wide circle, approaching the house again at an angle which would give him a view of Miss Lou’s window, and watching till it darkened.  From the garden he had carried a small, light ladder which he had used when pruning fruit-trees.  He stole near the extension warily, the shrubbery growing in that vicinity favoring his effort, and the heavy pall of clouds obscuring almost entirely the mild radiance of the moon.

Satisfied by a careful reconnoissance that no one was watching or stirring at that end of the house, with the stealth and agility of a cat he went from roof to roof and crawled to Miss Lou’s window.

“Chunk,” she whispered.

“Dat’s me, mistis.”

“You’re a good, brave fellow.  Now tell me quick—­don’t waste a word —­where is Lieutenant Scoville?”

“He’s wid de pris’ners, en Perkins en sogers watchin’ ’im.”

“Why is Perkins watching him?” the girl asked in deep alarm.

“Dunno, Miss Lou, ’cept on ’count ob he gradge.  Mad Whately en he talk knowin’—­like en den Perkins tek he lantern en jine de gyard.  W’en I las’ see ‘im he watchin’ Marse Scoville close.”