Then he slammed the door in the young man’s face, having kindled his lanthorn by this time:  and Charlie went up to the watchplace again, muttering as he passed me, “Bad look-out for all of us, when that surly old beast is Captain.  No gentle blood in him, no hospitality, not even pleasant language, nor a good new oath in his frowsy pate!  I’ve a mind to cut the whole of it; and but for the girls I would so.”

My heart was in my mouth, as they say, when I stood in the shade by Lorna’s window, and whispered her name gently.  The house was of one story only, as the others were, with pine-ends standing forth the stone, and only two rough windows upon that western side of it, and perhaps both of them were Lorna’s.  The Doones had been their own builders, for no one should know their ins and outs; and of course their work was clumsy.  As for their windows, they stole them mostly from the houses round about.  But though the window was not very close, I might have whispered long enough, before she would have answered me; frightened as she was, no doubt by many a rude overture.  And I durst not speak aloud because I saw another watchman posted on the western cliff, and commanding all the valley.  And now this man (having no companion for drinking or for gambling) espied me against the wall of the house, and advanced to the brink, and challenged me.

“Who are you there?  Answer!  One, two, three; and I fire at thee.”

The nozzle of his gun was pointed full upon me, as I could see, with the moonlight striking on the barrel; he was not more than fifty yards off, and now he began to reckon.  Being almost desperate about it, I began to whistle, wondering how far I should get before I lost my windpipe:  and as luck would have it, my lips fell into that strange tune I had practised last; the one I had heard from Charlie.  My mouth would scarcely frame the notes, being parched with terror; but to my surprise, the man fell back, dropped his gun, and saluted.  Oh, sweetest of all sweet melodies!

That tune was Carver Doone’s passport (as I heard long afterwards), which Charleworth Doone had imitated, for decoy of Lorna.  The sentinel took me for that vile Carver; who was like enough to be prowling there, for private talk with Lorna; but not very likely to shout forth his name, if it might be avoided.  The watchman, perceiving the danger perhaps of intruding on Carver’s privacy, not only retired along the cliff, but withdrew himself to good distance.

Meanwhile he had done me the kindest service; for Lorna came to the window at once, to see what the cause of the shout was, and drew back the curtain timidly.  Then she opened the rough lattice; and then she watched the cliff and trees; and then she sighed very sadly.

“Oh, Lorna, don’t you know me?” I whispered from the side, being afraid of startling her by appearing over suddenly.

Quick though she always was of thought, she knew me not from my whisper, and was shutting the window hastily when I caught it back, and showed myself.