“Not I. I borrowed this, without leave, from the pantry. All I wonder is that I didn’t think of doing it before.”
“Nobody knows you have the basin, then?”
“Nobody but Susan. She came in just in season to see me hide it. I was clumsy; and nothing, you know, ever escapes her eyes. She asked me what I was going to do with it, and I told her she would find out before long. I am sorry she saw it; but then I guess she won’t betray us.”
That evening, as if for Florence’s especial benefit, Miss Forester was detained at the school-room, after the session, long enough to allow her to arrange the basin of water just as she wished it. When all was ready, she whispered to Carrie,—
“Just before tea, look out for Miss Forester’s shower-bath.”
It was quite dark. The tea-bell was rung. The girls were sitting in expectation close by their own half-opened door. There was a quick step on the staircase.
“Now!” whispered Florence, breathlessly.
There was a splash, a heavy fall, a groan, and then, for a second, all was still,—but only for a second. Suddenly there was a great stir in the hall, and the frightened girls heard exclamations of, “She has fallen down-stairs! She is half killed!”
Hardly daring to move, they clung to each other in silence. Just then Susan rushed in.
“Oh, girls,” she said, reproachfully, “what have you done? Miss Winthrop is dreadfully hurt!”