Again she was silent for a few moments; then, seeming suddenly to have made up her mind, went softly to the door.
"Don't leave me!" cried Leopold.
"Hush! I must. I know now what to do. Be quiet here until I come back."
Slowly, cautiously, she unlocked it, and left the room. In three or four minutes she returned, carrying a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine. To her dismay Leopold had vanished. Presently he came creeping out from under the bed, looking so abject that Helen could not help a pang of shame. But the next moment the love of the sister, the tender compassion of the woman, returned in full tide, and swallowed up the unsightly thing. The more abject he was, the more was he to be pitied and ministered to.
"Here, Poldie," she said, "you carry the bread, and I will take the wine. You must eat something, or you will be ill."
As she spoke she locked the door again. Then she put a dark shawl over her head, and fastened it under her chin. Her white face shone out from it like the moon from a dark cloud.
"Follow me, Poldie," she said, and putting out the candles, went to the window.
He obeyed without question, carrying the loaf she had put into his hands. The window-sash rested on a little door; she opened it, and stepped on the balcony. As soon as her brother had followed her, she closed it again, drew down the sash, and led the way to the garden, and so, by the door in the sunk fence, out upon the meadows.