So thought Gil Carr, as he turned to look at them from a little distance, and then, softly walking to the little swing-bridge, he crossed it lightly in the darkness, and, leaping the fence, stood amongst the clustering roses waiting for the opening of a window ten feet above his head. He had not long to wait, for the signal had been seen, and before many moments had elapsed there was a slight grating noise and then a soft voice that made the young man's heart throb uttered the one word--"Gil." "Yes, dear, I am here," he replied, eagerly. "How foolish!" came next from overhead. "Why, Gil, you were with me this afternoon, and yet you play the love-sick swain beneath my window now." "I am sick with love, sweet; even unto death." "Are you turning poet, Gil?" "Yes, for I seem to live in a sphere of poesy when I think of thee." "You foolish boy." "I am," he said. "Would I could see thine eyes." "And that they were glow-worms," she said laughingly. "There, good-night, dear Gil. It is late, and I must to bed. If you are my true love, come boldly to the house by day; such meetings as this become neither thee nor me." "Stay awhile, sweet," he said. "What of your guest?" "Poor fellow! I have not seen him since." Gil sighed content. "There, I must fain go now, dear Gil. Good-night." "Nay, nay! a moment longer," he cried. "Why, Gil," she cried, laughing musically, "one would think you were a lover forsaken and forlorn, condemned to stay away--forbidden the house." "I am." "What?" "I am, sweet; and condemned to stolen meetings." "Why, Gil?" she exclaimed; and in a low voice he told her all. Meanwhile as Gil's dark figure was seen approaching the house, the watcher at the open window drew back to ensure being unseen, and then proceeded to follow the young man's movements, ending by going to the far end of the room, taking down a curious old Spanish matchlock from a couple of slings, and then opening an oaken cabinet, from which he took powder in a carved horn flask, and a small pouch of bullets, with which the piece was carefully charged. Then the match was cautiously lit, and, approaching the window, the barrel was laid upon the sill, as he who carried it went down on one knee, and took a careful aim at the young man where he stood. "I could bring him down easily," muttered the watcher. "He shall not play with me and break her heart." "Nay," he growled, the next minute, "it would be cowardly, and he is a brave strong lad. But he shall not trifle with either of us, and I will not have him here. "Shall I fire?" he said, holding the heavy piece hesitatingly; and the long barrel shook in his hand.