John Girdlestone picked it out and tried it in the air. "I think I could kill an ox with this," he said.
"Don't wave it about _my_ head," cried Ezra. "As you stand in the firelight brandishing that stick in your long arms you are less attractive than usual."
John Girdlestone smiled and replaced the cudgel in the sleeper's pocket. "Wake up, Burt," he cried, shaking him by the arm. "It's half-past eight."
The navvy started to his feet with an oath and then fell back into his chair, staring round him vacantly, at a loss as to where he might be. His eye fell upon the bottle of Hollands, which was now nearly empty, and he held out his hand to it with an exclamation of recognition.
"I've been asleep, guv'nor," he said hoarsely. "Must have a dram to set me straight. Did you say it was time for the job."
"We have made arrangements by which she will be out by the withered oak at nine o'clock."
"That's not for half an hour," cried Burt, in a surly voice. "You need not have woke me yet."
"We'd better go out there now. She may come rather before the time"
"Come on, then!" said the navvy, buttoning up his coat and rolling a ragged cravat round his throat. "Who is a-comin' with me?"
"We shall both come," answered John Girdlestone firmly. "You will need help to carry her to the railway line."
"Surely Burt can do that himself," Ezra remarked. "She's not so very heavy."
Girdlestone drew his son aside. "Don't be so foolish, Ezra," he said. "We can't trust the half-drunken fellow. It must be done with the greatest carefulness and precision, and no traces left. Our old business watchword was to overlook everything ourselves, and we shall certainly do so now."
"It's a horrible affair!" Ezra said, with a shudder. "I wish I was out of it."
"You won't think that to-morrow morning when you realize that the firm is saved and no one the wiser. He has gone on. Don't lose sight of him."
They both hurried out, and found Burt standing in front of the door. It was blowing half a gale now, and the wind was bitterly cold. There came a melancholy rasping and rustling from the leafless wood, and every now and again a sharp crackling sound would announce that some rotten branch had come crashing down. The clouds drove across the face of the moon, so that at times the cold, clear light silvered the dark wood and the old monastery, while at others all was plunged in darkness. From the open door a broad golden bar was shot across the lawn from the lamp in the hall. The three dark figures with their long fantastic shadows looked eerie and unnatural in the yellow glare.
"Are we to have a lantern?" asked Burt.
"No, no," cried Ezra. "We shall see quite enough as it is. We don't want a light."
"I have one," said the father. "We can use it if it is necessary. I think we had better take our places now. She may come sooner than we expect. It will be well to leave the door as it is. She will see that there is no obstacle in the way."
"You're not half sharp enough," said Ezra. "If the door was left like that it might suggest a trap to her. Better close the dining-room door and then leave the hall door just a little ajar. That would look more natural. She would conclude that Burt and you were in there."
"Where are Jorrocks and Rebecca?" Girdlestone asked, closing the door as suggested.
"Jorrocks is in her room. Rebecca, I have no doubt, is in hers also."
"Things look safe enough. Come along, Burt. This way."
The three tramped their way across the gravelled drive and over the slushy grass to the border of the wood.
"This is the withered oak," said Girdlestone, as a dark mass loomed in front of them. It stood somewhat apart from the other trees, and the base of it was free from the brambles which formed a thick undergrowth elsewhere.
Burt walked round the great trunk and made as careful an examination of the ground as he could in the dark.
"Would the lantern be of any use to you?" Girdlestone asked.
"No, It's all serene.