He paused, for there was the slight darkening of the blind as if a shadow were passing over it, and now, half-mad with rage, Sir Murray Gernon felt that all his suspicions were confirmed, as, springing forward, he tore the blind aside, just as again, loudly and distinctly, came the blows upon the glass. End of Volume I. Book 1, Chapter XXVI. NOCTURNAL. "Perhaps, after all, it's just as weel that he did not come," mused Alexander McCray, as he stood one morning upon the long wooden bridge which connected, at the narrowest part, the two shores of the fine piece of water lying between the park of Merland Castle and the pleasure-grounds. He was leaning over the rail, and gazing down into the clear depths below, where, screened by the broad leaves of the water-lilies, which here and there bore some sweet white chalice, the huge carp were floating lazily, now and then giving a flip with their broad tails to send themselves a few feet through the limpid medium in which they dwelt. "Perhaps, after all, it's just as weel that he did not come any more, but if he had, I would have pitched him in here as freely as have looked at him, and he wouldn't have hurt neither--a bad chiel. Them that's born to be hanged will never be drowned, and he'll come to the gallows sure enough, and deserves it, too, for ill-using that poor bairn as he did." "Weel, this winna do," he said, starting from his reverie, and shouldering the broom with which he had been sweeping the bridge. "I'll just e'en go and do the paths under the bedroom windows; the lassie might happen to give a look out." The gardener walked on, thoughtfully gazing up at the windows, and thinking the while of the nights when he had watchfully made his way, stealthy as a burglar, from bush to bush, or crouched beneath the shrubs. Few nights had passed without his seeing Jane Barker's light extinguished, but there had been no further visit from John Gurdon. "He didn't like the flat of my spade," said McCray, with a grin, and this seemed to be the case--the ex-butler never from that night having been heard of. Still, more now from habit than anything, the gardener continued his nocturnal rounds, telling himself that he could not sleep without one peep at the lassie's window before going to bed. But Alexander McCray seemed to make but little progress in his love affairs. Whenever he met Jane she had always a pleasant smile for him, but he knew in his heart that it was not the smile he wished to see. "But bide a wee," he said. "Her puir heart's sair. Wait awhile and it will all come reet." The gardener was favoured that morning, for as he applied his broom lightly here and there to the wandering leaves, the early ones of autumn, he heard a window, above his head, thrown open, and as he looked up, there was Jane leaning out, ready to smile and nod down to him. "Company coming, lassie?" said McCray, leaning upon his broom. "Company? No, Mr McCray," said Jane; "why did you think so?"