“You were running away,” said Lady Frances, “but I do not permit that. We will not argue the point; come up-stairs.”
She took Evelyn up to her room. There she opened the door and pushed her in.
“Doubtless you can do without dinner as you intended to run away,” said Lady Frances. “I will speak to you afterwards; for the present you stay in your room.” She locked the door and put the key into her pocket.
The angry child was locked in. To say that Evelyn was wild with passion, despair, and rage is but lightly to express the situation. For a time she was almost speechless; then she looked round her prison. Were there any means of escape? Oh! she would not stand it; she would burst open the door. Alas, alas for her puny strength! the door was of solid oak, firmly fastened, securely locked; it would defy the efforts of twenty little girls of Evelyn’s size and age. The window—she would escape by the window! She rushed to it, opened it, and looked out. Evelyn’s room was, it is true, on the first floor, but the drop to the ground beneath seemed too much for her. She shuddered as she looked below.
“If I were on the ranch, twenty Aunt Franceses would not keep me,” she thought; and then she ran into her sitting-room.
Of late she had scarcely ever used her sitting-room, but now she remembered it. The windows here were French; they looked on the flower-garden. To drop down here would not perhaps be so difficult; the ground at least would be soft. Evelyn wondered if she might venture; but she had once seen, long ago in Tasmania, a black woman try to escape. She had heard the thud of the woman’s body as it alighted on the ground, and the shriek which followed. This woman had been found and brought back to the house, and had suffered for weeks from a badly-broken leg. Evelyn now remembered that thud, and that broken leg, and the shriek of the victim. It would be worse than folly to injure herself. But, oh, was it not maddening? Jasper would be waiting for her—Jasper with her big heart and her great black eyes and her affectionate manner; and the little white bed would be made, and the delicious chocolate in preparation; and the fun and the delightful escapade and the daring adventure must all be at an end. But they should not—no, no, they should not!
“What a fool I am!” thought Evelyn. “Why should I not make a rope and descend in that way? Aunt Frances has locked me in, but she does not know how daring is the nature of Evelyn Wynford. I inherit it from my darling mothery; I will not allow myself to be defeated.”
Her courage and her spirits revived when she thought of the rope. She must wait, however, at least until half-past seven. The great gong sounded once more. Evelyn rushed to her door, and heard the rustle of the silken dresses of the ladies as they descended. She had her eye at the keyhole, and fancied that she detected the hated form of her aunt robed in ruby velvet. A slim young figure in white also softly descended.
“My cousin Audrey,” thought the girl. “Oh dear! oh dear! and they leave me here, locked up like a rat in a trap. They leave me here, and I am out of everything. Oh, I cannot, will not stand it!”
She ran to her bed, tore off the sheets, took a pair of scissors, and cut them into strips. She had all the ways and quick knowledge of a girl from the wilds. She knew how to make a knot which would hold. Soon her rope was ready. It was quite strong enough to bear her light weight. She fastened it to a heavy article of furniture just inside the French windows of her sitting-room, and then dropping her little bag to the ground below, she herself swiftly descended.