"Won't you make your cold worse, dear?" said Clara. "You are not dressed."

"I don't care," said the stupid thing; and then she stopped, while I went to the window again; and though I had lost my string, and knew that it was of no use to try any more that night, I gave a gentle cough and then waited a moment. I was about to cough again, but Patty, who was close behind me, sneezed once more loudly; and at last, after waiting a few minutes and coughing again and again, Clara and Patty both grumbled so about the cold that I was obliged reluctantly to close the window.

After waiting for awhile, we one by one stole back to the bedroom, where Patty declared that it was such good fun, and that she would go with us next time--just as if we wanted her; while poor I laid my cheek upon my pillow, disappointed, disconsolate, and upset to such a degree that I could do nothing else but have a good quiet cry for I don't know how long; but I know how wet my pillow grew, so that at last I was obliged to turn it before I could get to sleep.

And what was the use of going to sleep, to be in such trouble that I did not know what to do--dreams, dreams, dreams, and all of such a horrible kind! Now it was Achille in danger, now it was the white figure coming in at the door, and one moment Patty Smith, and then changing into Mrs Blunt and Miss Furness, Miss Sloman and the Fraulein; while, last of all, if it was not mamma, looking dreadfully cross, and then scolding me for my bad behaviour. Oh, it was terrible! And I don't think that I ever before pa.s.sed such a night.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

MEMORY THE EIGHTEENTH--IN TERRIBLE SUSPENSE.

My spirits rose a little after breakfast the next morning, though I only smiled sadly as I thought of my many disappointments; but we had had a long talk with Patty, and she had faithfully promised never, upon any consideration, to divulge one of our secrets. Of course I did not like making another confidante; but, under the circ.u.mstances, what could one do?

"Ah!" said Patty; "but it was a great shame that you did not tell me before."

"Why, we should have told you," said Clara--a wicked storyteller--"only you do sleep so soundly, dear."

Though, after all, perhaps that was nearly the truth; for, if she had not slept so soundly, we should have been obliged to let her into our secrets sooner.

This satisfied her, but it did not satisfy me; for the stupid creature must go about looking so knowing, and cunning, and deep, and laugh and leer at Clara, and nod and wink at me, all day long, till it was dreadfully aggravating, and enough to make anybody suspicious; and I almost wonder that one of the watchful dragons did not have something to say about it.

"Why, we shall be obliged to have her in the room all the time," I said to Clara, as I was thinking of my next interview with Achille; that is, if I ever was to have another.

"Never mind, dear," replied Clara; "it cannot matter much. She is very stupid, and I daresay that I can keep her in order."

I contrived to let Achille know all when he came the next day, and gave him to understand that he might try again upon any night he liked; for the last was only a false alarm, and all would have gone well had I but only held tightly by the cord. I gave him the information, written in French, at the top of my exercise, while Miss Furness was in the room, when if he had not the audacity to call me up to his elbow--for he had seen it all in an instant--and if he did not point out and mark two or three mistakes in the note I had scribbled so hastily at the top about the last meeting. However, I suppose he wished me to speak his own language correctly; and none but the brave deserve the fair.

There was one thing, though, in our correspondence which I did not like--poor Achille never could take any interest in our English poets; so that, if one quoted a bit of Byron or Moore to him, it was good for nothing, while he, the tiresome man, was always filling up his notes with sc.r.a.ps of Moliere, and I am sure I always praised them, and said that they were very beautiful.

And now once more came the night for meeting, with all its heart-throbbing flurry and excitement; but this time, apparently, without any of the terrible contretemps that had previously troubled us.

Patty was in high glee, and sat on the edge of her bedstead, munching an Abernethy biscuit, and grinning; while her great eyes, instead of half closing, like anybody else's would when they were laughing, became more round and wide open than ever. It seemed to be capital fun to her, and over and over again, when I glanced at her, she was giggling and laughing; and I do believe that, if I had not been there, she would have got up and danced about the room.

But it was time to start at last, and upon this occasion I had no noisy drawer to open, for I had a ball of new, stout string in my pocket. So, one at a time, we glided along the pa.s.sage, Clara going first, Patty second, and I followed behind, to close our door as quietly as was possible.

"Pat, pat, pat," and, with a gentle rustle, we pa.s.sed along the pa.s.sage, and stood at last in the little end room, while I am sure that no one could have heard our footsteps.

Clara made one effort to get rid of Patty before we started, but it was of no avail.

"Arn't you afraid of catching a worse cold?" she said; "hadn't you better stay in the bedroom, dear?"

For really she had a most miserable cold, and her eyes and nose looked as red as red.

"I sha'n't catch any more cold than you will," she cried, just as she had once before upon a similar occasion--"I want to see all the fun."

Fancy calling it fun!

So we were obliged to suffer her presence; but I am afraid that I was uncharitable enough to wish that she might catch a bad sore throat for her pains, or else something that would keep her from coming again.

However, there we all were; and as soon as ever we were all in the little room, I secured the door with a fork that I had brought for the purpose, and then, pulling out my string, I unfastened the window, when, fortunately, it glided up beautifully.

Clara was the first to look out, and it not being a dark night, she popped in again directly, saying in a whisper--

"There he is. I can see him."

"Let me look," cried Patty Smith, quite out loud; and then, when her head was out of the window, if she did not give quite a loud cough, in not only a most indiscreet way, but, really, one that was most reprehensible.

I pulled her back as quickly as I could, and, in a whisper, gave her a good scolding. Then I tied my scissors to the end of the string, to make it go down quickly, and swinging them over the great ledge, I looked down; but I could not see poor Achille, for he had come close up to the house, and was, of course, out of sight beneath the cornice.

"But I shall see him soon," I said to myself; and went on letting down the scissors till the string felt slack, and I knew that they touched the ground, when, just as before, I felt the string seized and jerked about, as if being attached to something; and well I knew what, though a half-fear took hold upon me now lest it should break the string, which was not so strong as I could have wished.

But now there was the signal; and I began to pull up the heavy rope ladder, cutting my poor little fingers with the string. At first it came up pretty quickly, but soon slower, for again it began to grow heavier; and at last, when I made sure that it must be nearly up, if it must not turn contrary against us, and catch against the cornice, and remain immovable.

What was I to do? It was of no use to pull and jerk; for, if we had pulled any harder, I'm sure that the string must have broken. If it had not been for Clara, I should have climbed out of the window, and stood upon the cornice, to set it at liberty, for she could easily have held my hand, so that I should really have been quite safe.

But she would not hear of this, and I don't know what I should have done if I had not thought of lowering the ladder down a little way, and then trying again, when, to my great delight, up it came, and Clara soon had hold of a pair of great iron hooks, just the sort of hooks I expected to see; and on fixing them upon the sill, my side, we found that they fitted beautifully; so I threw myself upon them to hold them in their places, lest they should slip.

Just after that there was a sharp rustle of the rope, and then it was pulled tight; while now, making Clara hold one hook and Patty the other, I strained out as far as I could reach, so that I could see Achille mounting, slowly ascending, the dangerous thing; and, although we all held on as tightly as we could, when he was about a dozen feet from the ground the tiresome rope began to twist and spin round and round, so that the poor fellow was twisting just as if he was being roasted, and I'm sure he must have been as giddy as giddy.

Fortunately for him, he did not always go the same way round, but twisted back again, or else he must have dropped off. It was not as if he had been close up to the house, for then he could have touched the wall and stopped himself; but the cornice, which was a good width, kept him away, so that he swung clear. And perhaps, after all, it was quite as well, for he might else have gone right through one of the windows.

It was very shuddery and dreadful; but we poor girls could do nothing but grasp the rope and hold our breath, and, as Clara said, hold our tongues; though Patty would keep letting go, and staring out of the window when she was not wanted to.

"Won't I tease him about this," she said. "Only see, the first time he finds fault with my exercises."

"Hush! you foolish child," I exclaimed. "Good gracious me! you must never say a word to him about it, under any consideration."

"Mustn't I?" said Patty, as innocently as could be.

"No, of course not," cried Clara; "that would ruin everything."

For I was now reaching as far as could be out of the window, to see what poor Achille was about; for the rope seemed to be doing nothing, and did not jerk as if he was getting higher and higher. And then, oh, dear! if I could not just see one of his feet where his head was last time I looked; for he was sitting upon the sill of the first floor window--the best bedroom, which was, of course, empty--and, I suppose, resting himself.

All at once, though, I heard him whisper--

"Is de ting sauf?"

"Yes, yes," I whispered in reply.

And then the rope crunched upon the cornice, as if he had again committed to it his weight, when I drew in my head and waited, trembling, for him to reach the window; and it did seem such a long time to come so short a distance; but, as he told me afterwards, the loops would keep slipping away when he wanted to put his feet in them, besides the rope spinning him round until he was giddy. At last I looked out again, and then drew back my head in agony; for if he was not hanging by one leg, head downwards, just like my poor d.i.c.k, the canary, did in London, when it caught its claw in the wire of the cage and could not get loose.

As I said, I drew in my head, quite in an agony of fear; but the rope jerked about so that I was obliged to gaze once more, and then I e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, quite loudly--

"Oh, Achille!"

"Eh, yais, oui," he exclaimed. "I 'ave put in mine's foot."

"In what--in what, mon cher?" I whispered.