Mildred started to her feet, her heart beating fast and loud, while at the same instant Mrs. Selby, waked by the noise of the fall, raised herself to a sitting posture and glanced round at her friend with a look of alarm.
“Blast ye! let me in hyar,” repeated the voice, its owner accompanying the words with an oath and another effort to turn the handle of the door.
The two women drew nearer together.
“Who is it?” asked Mildred in a tremulous whisper.
“I don’t know; but don’t be frightened, he’s evidently too drunk to break in on us, for the door and window shutters are stout and strongly barred.”
For several minutes the man continued to fumble at the door, pushing against it and muttering curses and demands for entrance, the women standing together, clasping each other’s hands and listening with bated breath.
Then he staggered to the window and tried that, but with no better success.
“If ye don’t le’me in,” he growled at length, “I’ll climb the roof and git down the chimbly.”
“Could he?” asked Mildred, taking a tighter grip of her companion’s hand.
“A sober man could easily get on the roof from the back shed,” Mrs. Selby answered, “but I hope he will fail. He seems very drunk for such an exploit.”