Christian took a pointed knife from the table.
“I shall cut them out of the frames,” she said. “Listen! What's that?”
It was the sound of whistling, which stopped beneath the window. The girls, clasping each other's hands, dropped on their knees.
“Hallo!” cried a voice.
Greta crept to the window, and, placing her face level with the floor, peered over.
“It is only Dr. Edmund; he doesn't know, then,” she whispered; “I shall call him; he is going away!” cried Christian catching her sister's—“Don't!” cried Christian catching her sister's dress.
“He would help us,” Greta said reproachfully, “and it would not be so dark if he were here.”
Christian's cheeks were burning.
“I don't choose,” she said, and began handling the pictures, feeling their edges with her knife.
“Chris! Suppose anybody came?”