With that he was up like a cat, clinging here, springing there, never pausing, never seeming to take his eyes from the little white figure, which had now reached the summit of the steep-pitched roof. Hildegarde gave one glance at the child, and saw him standing with outstretched arms on the ridge-pole itself. His voice came down, clear and calm.
"I am ready, dear Bellerophon! We will fly together now, down, down,—"
The girl covered her face, and prayed. It was a breath of time, it was eternity, before Roger's voice came down to her, strong and cheerful.
"We will go down together, Hughie. I was up here, too, and I will take you down, because you will be more comfortable that way. Put your arms round my neck, so! Hold on tight—that's right! Now, down we go!"
Hildegarde stood still in the snow, her hands still clutching the window-sill. She seemed incapable of speech or motion; could only listen to the quiet, steady voice, as it soothed the now awake and frightened child.
"Why, I suppose you went up to get a ball, or something that had been thrown up there. Eh? No? Something about Bellerophon? Where is he? Well, he may be in the house, laddie. We'll go in and see, anyhow. Your Beloved is there, you know, and she will be—Hildegarde!"
"Yes, Roger!" said Hildegarde, faintly.
"I told you to go into the house!"
"Yes, Roger; I am going!" And then Hildegarde sank down in a little white heap at Roger's feet, and knew nothing more.