"God! Her little leddyship—on the steps—in the cold!"
"Is it you, Jennings?"
"Yes, yer little leddyship," he whispered down, his body half out the window. "I can't open the door, yer leddyship. Hush! don't call out—wait!" He tottered to the hall, in fear of Thurston, and listened. Hearing nothing, he tottered back, trembling with excitement. "Yer little leddyship, there's those little iron bars—can't you find them? Put your hand through the ivy underneath. Ah, that's it. Now, if you could climb up, you're such a light, little body—I'd swing you easy enough over the balcony. That's right. Be careful. Ah, my heart stopped beating. Now, hold on with one hand and put up the other as high as you can." He drew her up gradually; she jumped lightly over the balcony and into the room. The fire was burning brightly. She crouched before it, shivering, and warming her hands.
"Oh, I'm so cold!" she cried. "I'm chilled to the bone!"
"Hush," whispered Jennings, in mortal fear. "Speak lower, yer little leddyship, if you don't want to ruin me."
"What's the meaning of this?" exclaimed Indiana. "Where's my husband?"
"Asleep."
"Asleep! You heard me, why didn't you open the door?"
"The master took the key from me."
Indiana rose from the fire with a horror-stricken face. "He heard me, then—he knew I was there?"