For an instant she did not know where she was. Was it a dream still? For there was a tapping, tapping at her door—no, it was at the window. A shiver ran through her from head to foot. Her heart almost stopped beating. Some one was calling to her.
“Guida! Guida!”
It was Philip’s voice. Her cheek had been cold the moment before; now she felt the blood tingling in her face. She slid to the floor, threw a shawl round her, and went to the casement.
The tapping began again. For a moment she could not open the window. She was trembling from head to foot. Philip’s voice reassured her a little.
“Guida, Guida, open the window a moment.”
She hesitated. She could not—no—she could not do it. He tapped still louder.
“Guida, don’t you hear me?” he asked.
She undid the catch, but she had hardly the courage even yet. He heard her now, and pressed the window a little. Then she opened it slowly, and her white face showed.
“O Philip,” she said breathlessly, “why have you frightened me so?”
He caught her hand in his own. “Come out into the garden, sweetheart,” he said, and he kissed the hand. “Put on a dress and your slippers and come,” he urged again.