A sudden feeling of shyness seized the girl, and she stole out of the room and went into the garden, determined to escape unseen. But before she reached the arbor she heard one of the servants calling after her.
"Young miss! young miss! Please to wait; ole missus wants to speak to you."
Sarah turned and walked toward the house, ready to burst into tears with timidity and excitement. But the lady whom she had so longed to know, came down the steps and moved toward her, holding out her hand. She was very pale, and shaking from head to foot; but she spoke with a certain calmness, which it was evident she would retain under the most trying circumstances.
"I can not thank you," she said; "if it had not been for you, I should never have seen my husband alive again."
Sarah began to sob, the old lady held out her arms, and the frightened girl actually fell into them. There they stood for a few moments, weeping in each other's embrace, and by those very tears establishing a closer intimacy than years of common intercourse would have done.
"How did you happen to see him fall?" asked the old lady.
"I was looking out of my window," replied Sarah, pointing to her open casement, "and when I saw it I ran over at once."
"You are a pupil of Madame Monot's, then?"
"Yes—and, oh my, I must go back! They will scold me dreadfully for being away so long."