“Oh, my dear, don’t say people are coming to break it down again!”
“Never you mind if they are. Get out of my way.”
There was the rattling of a key faintly heard, and then bang, bang, bang, and the ringing of the bell.
“They’ve come,” said Frank. “But never mind; I’ll let them in before they break it.”
There was a faint squeal from the kitchen just then.
“Oh!” cried the housekeeper wildly, “that girl will be going into fits again.”
“Let her,” said Frank. “Stop! Is the area door fastened?”
“Oh yes, my dear. I always keep that locked.”
Frank stopped to hear no more, but ran into the housekeeper’s room, whose window, well-barred, looked up a green slope toward the Park.
There was a folding screen standing near the fire, a luxury affected by the old housekeeper, who used it to ward off draughts, which came through the window sashes, and the boy opened this a little to make sure that he was not seen by any one who might come and stare in. Then, standing in its shelter, he tore the letter from his breast pocket, broke the seal, opened it with trembling fingers, and began to read, with eyes beginning to dilate and a choking sensation rising in his breast.