Noiselessly as he could, Hugh got his boots in his hand and in his stockinged feet stole out of the chamber. In the corridor it was all black and still, just as it had been that other time when he ran from Everscombe, only now Lois was with him, and when the stairs creaked they pressed close together. Then she went forward boldly, and he, still half-blinded with sleep, was content to follow the guidance of her hand. “In here,” she whispered at length, and so led him into the east parlor, where the great clock still ticked, solemn and unperturbed. “Go out at the window,” Lois spoke softly; “I dare not open the door. There are a few men in the house, but they lie in the west wing and the stables. The bulk are at Kingsford. Northward you will find the way clear.” “I am not going northward,” Hugh answered, as he warily pushed open the casement. “I go to my father now.” “Hugh!” The girl’s voice came in a frightened gasp. “I had not released you— If you come unto them at last— They wish it not— You may be killed! You shall not do this thing.” Leaning from the casement Hugh dropped his boots carefully where the dark showed an edge of grass bordered the flagged walk; as he set himself astride the window ledge he spoke: “’Tis just the thing I shall do, Lois, and the only thing. If you be sorry for what you did, call, if you will, but I shall jump and run for it.” “I shall not call,” she answered. “Oh, I care not who has the right and wrong of the war. I cannot bear they should hurt you.” She was kneeling on the window-bench with her face close to his; he suddenly bent forward and kissed her. “God bless you for this, Lois,” he said. Then he swung himself over the window ledge, and letting his weight come on his hands dropped noiselessly to the walk below. He dragged on his boots, and taking a cautious step across the flagstones slid down the terrace to the lawn. Once more he glanced back, not at Everscombe manor house, but at the opened window of the east parlor. It was too dark more than to distinguish the outline of the casement, but he knew that at the lattice Lois was still standing to wish him God speed to his father. CHAPTER XXI THE FATHERHOOD OF ALAN GWYETH The sky was bluish black with heavy masses of clouds, but through a rift in the west showed a bright star, by which Hugh guessed roughly it must be within two hours of dawn. Quickening his pace to a run at that, he came into the shelter of the park, where it was all black, and he went forward blindly, with one arm thrust up to guard his face. Now and again he had through the tree-tops a distant sight of the sky, and by it took his directions; but for the most part he stumbled on haphazard, though at a brisk pace, for the night was passing rapidly. When at length he crushed his way through a thicket to the edge of the brook that marked the bounds of the park, the bright western star had sunk out of sight behind the trees.