But we have already said that Agnes cared not for the bonnet;—and without bestowing a second thought on the matter, she approached the front-door. Alas! there was a more serious disappointment still—the key of that door had likewise been taken up stairs.
An expression of bitter vexation passed over the pale countenance of the maiden—an expression more bitter than that beauteous countenance had ever before worn: but, in another instant, it was succeeded by something like a gleam of hope and joy,—for Agnes bethought her that there was a yard at the back of the house—she had seen it, in the moonlight, from her bed-room window—and there might be a means of egress in that direction.
Cautiously descending the stairs leading into the kitchens, which were below the level of the street, she hastened to the back-door, which, to her joy, proved only to be bolted.
Oh! now she would escape—she would escape, even if she were forced to climb a wall and enter the enclosure belonging to a neighbouring house: for, with the excitement occasioned by her present proceedings, the panic influence which urged her on acquired fresh power every moment.
Extinguishing the light, she left the candlestick in the house, and then emerged into the yard.
The fresh air, as it fanned her face, seemed to breathe whispering promises of freedom, and gave her renewed courage.
The moon was shining gloriously; and as she cast a glance of rapid survey around, she beheld the backs of the dilapidated houses the fronts of which had struck her with such sinister effect when she first entered Stamford Street, in the hackney-coach, in the evening.
There was no mode of egress from the yard save by scaling the boundary walls, which were low on either side.
Not an instant did Agnes hesitate: the fittings of a water-butt served as a ladder for her delicate feet;—and, behold! the sylph-like form of the maiden passes nimbly and lightly over the wall, into the yard belonging to the ruined house next door: for it strikes her that egress by means of an uninhabited building must be certain beyond all risk or doubt.
The moon-light streams, with silvery rays, upon the sombre walls—the dark window-frames, with the blackened fragments of glass remaining in them—the back-door hanging crazily and loosely on its hinges—and the rust-eaten bars of the back-kitchen window. The yard is overgrown with rank grass, reaching above the ankles; and the ground is ragged and uneven—the chances of tripping being moreover multiplied by the brick-bats and the broken bottles scattered about.