“What is it?... Who is there?” Hildegarde whispered.
“Potter Waite,” he replied, in a similar voice. “I must see you. I’m coming up.”
“No!” she said. “No!...”
“I’m coming up,” he repeated.
“You mustn’t!... You don’t understand! If they found you—”
He made no reply, but began to scramble up the tree and out upon a limb which climbed upward past the window, not distant from it.
“Open the window wide,” he whispered.
“You mustn’t come in!... I’ll close the window.”
“Then I’ll come through it,” he said, swinging nearer.
“Wait,” she said, and ran to throw a gown about her nightdress. She reappeared. “Please!... Please!” she said, tremulously.