He did not venture to speak.
Then Tom paused, holding the brush open, and peering through--thoughtfully, intently.

He looked like a scout in a picture.
Hervey waited behind him, his heart in his throat.

He could not have stood there if Tom had not been in front of him.

It seemed interminable, this waiting.

But Tom was not the one to leap without looking.
Suddenly, like a flash of lightning, he threw aside all stealth and caution and, tearing the bushes out of his path, darted forward like a hunted animal.