It was Rosalie, the pure soul of Rosalie, speaking to her, pleading with her in golden song, bidding her be brave and—keep her promise and—give the money back—not half of it, but all of it.
Inspired with this simple faith, the girl moved swiftly toward the wide glass door that led into the library. In her hand she held the banknotes. She was going to give them back. Anton and Grimes might do what they pleased. If punishment and shame must come, then let them come. She was going to return the money she had stolen and—do what her dear sister Rosalie would wish and—keep "her promise true."
With her hand on the door Hester paused. She remembered that Miss Thompson's desk stood at this side of the room, not more than ten feet distant. It was possible that, under cover of darkness and the music, she could reach this desk without attracting attention. If she could, then—then she might slip the money into one of the drawers and—and make her getaway through the park before Anton could be sure that she had thrown him down. He wouldn't tell Grimes until he was absolutely sure. She might have time to stop at the lodge for her things and—she could square old Mrs. Pottle somehow. There was just a chance, in this storm, that she could be off on a train to London before Anton would even tumble that she had started. He was a good deal of a fool, Anton, and a coward besides.
Well, she would take the chance. It meant liberty, everything and—this was playing fair. She had promised to give the money back, but—that didn't mean walking meekly into jail. To be honest, to be kind—there was nothing else to it. She had a perfect right to keep out of jail, if she could.
Lightly and swiftly Hester entered the library and glided across the room toward Miss Thompson's desk. Betty was still singing, but the Storm girl listened no longer. All her faculties were centered on the last desperate adventure. If she could only get away with this! If the kind God—Merle's God—Rosalie's God—would only let her get away with this!
Groping before her in the obscurity of the room, her hand touched the desk and, running her fingers over it, she came upon a partly open drawer. There was something white in it. A handkerchief! It was the top drawer on the left-hand side. She would remember that and wire Betty to-night—no, write her. The top drawer on the left-hand side, under the handkerchief. There! She crowded the banknotes back into the drawer with a farewell tap and cautiously pressed the drawer shut. The spring-lock clicked. She had kept her promise. She had returned the Bishop of Bunchester's five thousand pounds, while the bishop himself, all unconscious of this, sat, lost in pleasant reverie, not three yards away.
Swiftly and silently, as before, Hester left the room. Thus far fortune and the darkness and the music had favored her. It only remained to cross the conservatory, to open the outside door and then venture forth into the storm. Where was Anton? Where was Grimes?
With a supreme effort the girl conquered her fears and crossed the few feet that separated her from the tumult inside. And, close behind her in a dull red line, came the watchful cigar—and Grimes.
The Storm girl grasped the latch of the outside door and, at the same moment, a heavy hand descended on her shoulder.
"Anton!" she started.