A False Step.
It was one o’clock; the hall time-piece gave a sharp “ting,” to proclaim the hour, as Jane looked down over the balustrade, vainly trying to pierce the darkness below. For all was dark in the house, and as far as she could judge, every one was buried in slumber; but she trembled as she passed softly through the corridors, past door after door, beyond each of which some one was sleeping, and in spite of her utmost efforts her dress seemed to rustle loudly. Now and again, too, a board creaked sharply, with a sound that sent a chill through her whole frame. But there was no help for it now, and gliding at length down the grand staircase, she paused by the damaged library door to listen.
All still, but the wind was getting up and beginning to moan round the house, sighing in a way that in her excited state seemed to reproach her, and she stopped, trembling violently.
Why had she not told him to come to the library window? The door would have yielded to her touch, and she could have reached out to speak to him, while now she had to slip bolts and bars, and to turn a key, one and all of which gave forth sounds that seemed to make her blood run cold. Once more she stopped; but summoning her resolution, she proceeded, and the inner lobby door was passed and closed behind her. She stood upon the floor-cloth, listening and trying to pierce the gloom of the great billiard-room to the right, but she could only make out the table, covered with its loose, white dust-cloth. The coats and hats, though, against the wall, looked ghostly, and it was as much as she could do to summon courage to proceed, till, with many a choking sob, she told herself that it was only for his love that she did it, and that she would give him one kiss, and then they would part till he could come back a better man. For weren’t they young even yet? She was only twenty-four, and she could wait, for she loved John, after all, with all his failings.
Yes, she loved John; and that thought carried her to the door, and she placed her hand upon the top bolt just as a faint tap sounded upon the little slip of a glass window at the side, when there came a louder gust of wind, telling of the coming storm, and seeming to her excited fancy like a warning. She hesitated, and stood trembling like one of the leaves without, whose rustling she could plainly hear.
It was only to say good-bye, though, perhaps for many years, and it would be so cruel to let him go without, and besides, it was not wise to tarry, for there was the faint possibility of McCray being on the watch, though this coming round to the other side of the house would, in such a case, perhaps, throw him off the scent.
Again her hand was on the fastenings, and again she paused, listening to the warning voice within her; but a second faint tap roused her, bolt and lock were thrown back, and, with a loud crack, as if remonstrating at being opened at such unholy hours, the door was thrown wide.
The next instant Jane was in Gurdon’s arms; her own, too, flung round his neck, and her lips warmly meeting his kisses, as she sobbed wildly and clung to him, thinking of the parting soon to follow.
“Let me shut the door, though,” she whispered, disengaging herself after a few minutes.
“No—no,” whispered Gurdon, hoarsely, in reply, as he again folded her tightly in his arms. “Leave that as it is; but, tell me, are they all abed?”