“And yoh is faint wif excitement,” Lucy finished for her. “Yes’m, yoh jes’ stay there and I’ll have somefin’ up foh yoh in a jiffy,” and Dorothea heard the girl hurry away.
Going back to the window she opened it again and whispered what she had done.
“It’s the best I can manage at present,” she ended.
“It will be a great help,” the man replied. “If I could just have a bit of sleep and a chance to dress a wound I received getting out of Andersonville, I wouldn’t have to bother you further. I’m sorry to give you so much trouble.”
Perhaps the prospect of food gave the man hope but, whatever the reason, he spoke in a stronger voice and in the unmistakable accents of a gentleman.
Evidently he was an officer, and Dorothea peered down in the darkness trying to catch a glimpse of his features, but it was too dark to see more than a darker shadow crouched against the wall.
“Listen,” she elaborated her plans as she talked, “as soon as my maid comes back I shall put out the candle and go down stairs. My aunt has sent for me and if I don’t appear shortly she or my cousins will come after me. When the light is out you can slip into the room, and for some hours you will be safe here. I shall not come back till the dance is over, which I suppose will be nearly morning. Can you manage this, do you think?”
“Easily,” came the quiet answer. “You couldn’t have arranged it better. With a little more strength I can get on, now that the dogs are off the trail.
“Tell me,” he added, “which of the rooms with windows opening on this roof belong to men?”
“The one at the very end,” Dorothea answered. “That’s Hal May’s room.”