"Here I am, Isabel."
The Professor stepped quickly to the window and touched her on the arm. She laughed, with a tinge of hysteria none would have connected with her. Then the chaperone came uppermost.
"Amos Bulkeley, you come right to bed! Don't you know you never could stand the night air? You'll catch your death of cold. Is it any wonder, Mr. Stamford, that I lose patience with him sometimes? No, not a word, Amos! You march!"
And Amos marched as he was told, his long, awkward legs struggling through the window with ludicrous contortions. Stamford, watching with a smile in which was amusement and contempt, saw him carefully place his feet in the ladder rungs, test the ropes, and begin to climb ponderously upward.
He could not resist the opportunity. Isabel was holding the ladder for her brother to ascend.
"Miss Bulkeley, I'm so glad you came to me for help. This is the second time I've seen you to-night. It's been a lovely night. If ever I can——"
"Thank you," she whispered back. "I'll remember."
"Isabel, Isabel!" The Professor was leaning through his window. "Come right along now. I'll hold the ladder. Don't be a bit afraid, dear. Nothing can happen. Just close your eyes and climb."
Stamford snarled up at the cooing voice.