The night went on. There were stars in the sky. The children could see the stars from the dormer-window of their attic; and presently the moon—a full one—rose and flooded the outside world. Christian, from where she sat, could see the cats stealing about, making great shadows on the neighboring roofs, and she could hear their cry as they met each other; she could also hear, far down below, the great roar of London itself. And in the house she could hear the cries of children and the angry, excited words of men and women, and she felt that in all her life she had never even imagined anything quite so awful. Her one drop of comfort lay in the fact that Rosy—pretty Rosy—was cuddled up close to her, and that Rosy certainly would not leave her.
The two young girls did not attempt to undress, and Christian's bag of money was still firmly secured under her skirt.
By and by silence began to reign. Even in a house like this people must sleep sometimes, and the drunken men and women lay down on their respective beds, the children slept heavily, and in the adjoining attic all was still. Then Rosy began to nod and to fall half-forward in her chair. Christian had great work to keep her from sliding to the ground. Perhaps it was this fact that made Christian so wide awake herself; but certain it is she could not sleep.
She was glad that there was a moon in the sky; she was glad that the terrible house was quiet at last. Poor Christian! she little knew what lay before her.
The time passed on, and notwithstanding her determination not to close an eye, the silence and the soothing effect of Rosy's presence began to make her drowsy. She put her arm more firmly round her little companion and let her body lean against Rosy's, and was really beginning to nod her head, when suddenly there came a great shadow between her and the moonlight. She looked up, and there was Mrs. Carter on the roof, trying to get in at the window. How she had got out on the leads Christian never knew, but she had done so, and was now feeling all along the fastening of the dormer-window and was endeavoring to open it.
In one minute it seemed to the young girl that the blood of Joan of Arc and Charlotte Corday, and many more of the great heroines of the past, rushed through her veins. She gave Rosy a jerk—unintentionally, for she did not mean to wake her. She did not care about Rosy then, nor did she want her. She felt all-sufficient to herself. In an instant she had sprung forward, and going to the window, opened it a little way.
"Go back this minute," she said. "You are not on any account to come in; I will push you down if you try. I don't care whether I hurt you or not; I will push you off the roof if you try to get in. You have no right here; go back."
Mrs. Carter was so amazed by the mere fact of Christian's being up and awake, when she expected her to be in bed and sound asleep, and so startled at the girl's unlooked-for courage, that she was absolutely mute.
"Go away," repeated Christian. "I know what you have come about: you want to steal my money. You think I have got some. Well, if I have, it isn't for you. You told me lies to-day about being punished for running away, but I don't tell you any lie when I say that you can be put in prison for this—yes, you and your husband. I will push you right down off the roof—I don't care whether it hurts or not—if you try to get in."
There was a very ugly look on Mrs. Carter's face. Even in the shadow, with her back to the moonlight, Christian noticed it; but not a single word escaped her lips. Her footing was insecure and dangerous; one strong push from a big girl like Christian standing firmly within the room would not only knock her down, but cause her to drop a matter of thirty feet on to another roof at a little distance. She therefore began cautiously and quietly, and still with that evil look on her face, to back away from Christian, and in a few minutes the young girl perceived by the absence of all shadow that Mrs. Carter must have returned to her own attic.