He slipped off his low shoes, stepped noiselessly upon the veranda, keeping out of the range of the window so as not to cast a shadow within the room, and crept close up to the low sill. The curtain had been thrust aside a trifle, so that he could easily see the interior of the room, and he beheld that which riveted him, spell-bound, to the spot, and drove every drop of blood to his heart. He saw his father sitting close beside the window, so close, that his lightest movement caused one of his arms to hit the curtain. On the floor, before him, there stood an open trunk, of medium size, which, apparently, had been pulled from beneath the bed, and from which Colonel Mapleson had taken a portfolio, while he was absorbed in looking over a package of letters which it contained. He was very pale, and his son could perceive traces of deep emotion on his face, which seemed to have grown strangely old during the last two hours. The young man drew back, after that one look, the color all gone from his own face, and his lips strangely compressed. Without making the slightest noise, he stole from the veranda, picked up his shoes, and hurried from the place. Outside the gate, he paused long enough to replace his shoes on his feet, when he again mounted his horse, and rode quietly away. Half an hour later Colonel Mapleson emerged from the front door of the cottage, and, after looking cautiously around, as if he was afraid of being observed, he passed quickly down the steps, out of the gate, carefully closing it after him, and then strode rapidly toward a thick growth of trees and bushes, behind which he had fastened his horse. Springing into his saddle, he spoke sharply to the animal, and rode away at a brisk trot in the opposite direction from that which Everet had taken a little while before. But at the end of a mile or so, he turned abruptly into another cart path, and, after nearly an hour’s ride, came in sight of the Hermitage. Dismounting, he led his horse behind the house into the dilapidated stable, where he would be sheltered and concealed from sight, if any one chanced to pass that way, and then he made his own way inside the Hermitage. It was evident, from all his movements, that he had come there with some settled purpose, for he drew a hammer and chisel from one of his pockets, and then commenced a systematic examination of the room that had been Robert Dale’s sanctum. But it proved to be a rather discouraging undertaking, for there was very little about the room to suggest a place of concealment for anything of a valuable character.