barrel; he was not more than fifty yards
off, and now he began to reckon. Being almost desperate about it, I
began to whistle, wondering how far I should get before I lost my
windpipe; and, as luck would have it, my lips fell into that strange
tune I had practiced last,--the one I heard from Charlie Doone. My
mouth would scarcely frame the notes, being parched with terror; but,
to my surprise, the man fell back, dropped his gun and saluted. Oh,
sweetest of all sweet melodies!

That tune was Carver Doone's passport (as I heard long afterward), which
Charleworth Doone had imitated, for decoy of Lorna. The sentinel took
me for that vile Carver, who was like enough to be prowling there, for
private talk with Lorna, but not very likely to shout forth his name,
if it might be avoided. The watchman, perceiving the danger, perhaps,
of intruding on Carver's privacy, not only retired along the cliff, but
withdrew himself to good distance.

Meanwhile he had done me the kindest service; for Lorna came to the
window at once to see what the cause of the shout was, and drew back the
curtain timidly. Then she opened the rough lattice; and then she watched
the cliff and trees; and then she sighed very sadly.

"Oh, Lorna, don't you know me?" I whispered from the side, being afraid
of startling her by appearing over suddenly.

Quick though she was of thought, she knew me not from my whisper, and
was shutting the window hastily, when I caught it back and showed
myself.

"John!" she cried, yet with sense enough not to speak aloud; "oh, you
must be mad, John!"

"As mad as a March hare," said I, "without any news of my darling. You
knew I would come--of course you did."

"Well, I thought, perhaps--you know; now, John, you need not eat my
hand. Do you see, they have put iron bars across?"

"To be sure. Do you think I should be contented even with this lovely
hand, but for these vile iron bars? I will have them out before I go.
Now, darling, for one moment--just the other hand, for a change, you
know."

So I got the other, but was not honest; for I kept them both, and felt
their delicate beauty trembling as I laid them to my heart.

"Oh, John, you will make me cry directly"--she had been crying long
ago--"if you go on in that way. You know we can never have one another;
every one is against it. Why should I make you miserable? Try not to
think of me any more."

"And will you try the same of me, Lorna?"

"Oh yes, John; if you agr