The girl, when she could no longer see him, dashed away, and, sobbing violently, entered the house.
II.
There was just a suspicion of light in the east, a mere hint of a glow, when Lyman walked cautiously around the corner of the house and tapped at Marietta's window. She was sleeping soundly and did not hear, for she had been restless during the first part of the night. He tapped again, and the girl woke without knowing what woke her.
Lyman put the blade of his pocket-knife under the window and raised it a little, and then placed his lips to the crack, and spoke in a sepulchral tone, half groan, half whisper:
"Merry! Merry Etty!"
The dazed girl sat up in bed and listened, while her heart almost stood still.
"Merry, it's me—Lime. Come to the winder." The girl hesitated, and Lyman spoke again.
"Come, I hain't got much time. This is your last chance t' see me. It's now 'r never."
The girl slipped out of bed and, wrapping herself in a shawl, crept to the window.