“Don’t be silly! I’ve made trouble enough without acting foolish over it.”
She seemed so completely ashamed of herself that Dorothy pitied her and hastened to put her arm about her and say:
“Why should you think of trouble to anybody else since you’re—alive?”
“Alive! Did you think I might be dead, then? That makes it worse, still. I was never in the slightest danger. I was only just a—dunce.”
“You couldn’t ever be that, Jane Potter!” cried Molly Martin, enthusiastically embracing the restored one from her other side.
But Jane shook herself free from the caresses of both and calmly explained:
“Since you’ll all want to know I may as well tell just how thoughtless I was. I wanted to find that secret staircase Jim had told about, and the hidden chamber above it, under the roof. I couldn’t at first. It led out of the paneled chamber, he said, where all the side walls looked like doors and only one of them would move. Finally, after I’d tried ’em all, and that took some time, I slid one open. It was the secret stair; nothing but a close sealed cupboard, so little that even I could hardly squeeze up it. It wasn’t a regular stair, only tiny three-cornered pieces of board nailed in the back angles, first one side and then another. They are far apart and some are gone. I thought I’d never get up the thing, but I hadn’t stayed behind to be worsted by a sort of old grain-chute like that.”
“Weren’t you scared? Didn’t you feel as if some enemy were after you?” Molly Breckenridge interrupted to ask.
Jane coolly sat down and glanced contemptuously at the questioner. All the company felt a trifle disappointed by Jane’s manner. They had expected a more exciting revelation.
“What should I be afraid of? I haven’t any enemies, as I know.”