Part 19 (2/2)

Ermengarde's voice already sounded far away. Her feet seemed to have wings, she ran so fast. As she ran she heard the stable-clock strike eleven.

”Oh, I do trust they have not locked up the house!” she exclaimed.

”Suppose they have, and suppose George has put the bolt on the schoolroom window? He's as careless as possible about fastening the bolts of the windows as a rule, but it would be like him to do it to-night of all nights. Oh, what shall I do, if that has happened?”

Ermengarde's heart beat so fast at the bare idea that she could scarcely run. She stumbled, too, over a piece of twig which lay across her path, and falling somewhat heavily sc.r.a.ped her forehead. She had no time to think of the pain then. Rising as quickly as possible, she pa.s.sed along the familiar road. How weary it was! How tedious! Would it never, never end?

At last she came under the shadows caused by the rambling old house.

She flew down a side-walk which led through a shrubbery; now she was pa.s.sing under the window of Miss Nelson's private room, now she saw the three long low windows of the dear cozy old schoolroom. The blinds were drawn down, and there was light within--a faint light, it is true, but still light. Ermengarde felt a sense both of relief and fear.

The side-entrance door was reached at last. She turned the handle. Her fingers were cold and trembling. The handle turned, but the door did not move. Had she turned the handle of the door quite round--were her fingers too weak for the task? She tried again in vain. Then she uttered a sound something between a sob and a cry--she was really locked out!

”What _shall_ I do?” murmured the unhappy child.

She looked around her wildly. She did not dare try the schoolroom window while that light remained within. She leant up against the locked door, trembling, incapable of action; a very little would have made her lose her self-control.

At this moment her sharp ear heard a sound; the sound was made by a movement in the schoolroom. Ermengarde started away a step or two from the hall-door; she saw some one go up to one of the windows and, without drawing up the blind, put a hand underneath to feel if the fastening was to. It was not, but was immediately bolted. The steps then went across the room.

At this moment Ermengarde felt desperate. Old George was faithful to-night, of all nights. Dreadful, terrible old George!

Suddenly in her despair she seized upon the last chance of succor. She would call to George to let her in, and afterward trust to her wits to bribe the old servant to silence.

No sooner did this idea come to her than she acted on it, and in a frenzy of terror began to call George's name through the keyhole.

A step came into the pa.s.sage, there was a surprised pause, then a rush to the door, which was quickly opened. Basil, not George, stood before Ermengarde.

”Ermie!” he exclaimed. His face got crimson, then it turned white. His first exclamation had been full of astonished affection and concern, but in a flash his manner altered; he caught Ermengarde roughly by the shoulder, and dragged her into the house.

”Come into the schoolroom,” he said.

”O Basil, don't--don't look at me like that.”

”I'm not looking at you in any way. I must lock this door, I suppose.

Did you know it was past eleven o'clock?”

”Yes, yes, I heard the stable-clock strike. Oh, I was so terrified.

Basil, why are you looking like that?”

”I'm not looking any way. Don't be a goose. Here, come into the schoolroom.”

”No, I am tired. I want to go to bed. I'll--I'll explain every thing to you to-morrow.”

”Look here, Ermengarde.” Basil held a lamp in his hand, and its light fell on Ermengarde's face. ”You have got to come into the schoolroom and make no words about it, or I'll--I'll take you, just as you are, straight away to father, to his study.”

”You are very cruel,” sobbed Ermengarde. But she went into the schoolroom without another word.

Basil followed her, and shut the door behind him.

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