At last the time seemed to him to be a fitting one for the venture, and, giving the signal, his men started up from amongst the dewy herbage; there was the clink of arms and a rustling noise as all fell into their places; and, taking the head of his little force, Gil gave his final orders, especially commanding silence, and made for the Pool-house. Gil's plans were well matured, and his followers fell into their respective places without confusion. Arriving pretty close to the foundry, he posted them behind the smallest of the furnace-sheds, where the black shadow of night was blacker than in the open; and then, with Wat at his elbow, he made for another shed, where he knew that a short stout ladder was kept. This was in its place, and Wat was about to shoulder it, when in a low hoarse whisper the old fellow said:-- "You'll let me take her, too, skipper?" For answer Gil turned angrily. "Put that ladder down," he whispered; "and go back. Send Morris." "No, no, skipper," whispered the old fellow hastily. "Let me go." "Put down the ladder. Go back, and send me a trustworthy man." "I'm the trust worthiest man you've got, skipper," growled Wat, "only I was obliged to say a word for I feel as I ought to marry the girl now. You don't know what it is to be in love, skipper, or you would not treat me thus." "Do you go, or stay?" said Gil. "Stay," said Wat. "I shan't leave you, skipper, come what may. I've done. Not another word about it will you hear from me." Wat shouldered the ladder, and together the two men walked towards the water-run, and along it by the stones to the little bridge, which they softly crossed, and entered the garden. They paused to listen, but all was very still and dark. A more suitable night could not have been chosen for the adventure, and together they made for Mace's window, where a dim light was burning. The end of the ladder rustled slightly as it was borne amongst the trees, and they again stopped to listen; but all was still, and so intense was the darkness now before moonrise--the moon that was to light the boat down the river to where the ship lay waiting--that they could see neither to the right nor the left, even the thick bushes under the window were in the gloom. Would she fail him at this important time? Gil's heart asked; but he crushed down the thought. No: she would come, he was sure of it, for she had promised him, and he felt no fear of her wanting in spirit for the enterprise. "No," he muttered; "she would go through fire and water to escape his touch alone, and she would dare more to be beside me." There was a thrill of joy at these thoughts, and he gazed anxiously at the window, waiting to see it opened, that he might raise the ladder and help her away. It must be the hour, he thought, but the next minute he set it down to impatience. "She will be to her time," he said.