Now was the time to show what metal I was made of. My spirits rose as I felt I could rely on myself to be cautious, resourceful, bold. I sat on, outwardly composed, but inwardly excited, straining my ears for a sign that the fugitive was in the porch. I supposed I should presently hear a light tap on my parlour window, which was close to the outer door.
But none came. More than an hour passed. It had long been perfectly dark. What could have happened? Had the poor creature been dogged and waylaid by those two policemen after all? Was it possible that they had seen us standing together at the stile, where she had so inconsiderately joined me for a moment? At last I became so nervous that I went to the outer door, opened it softly, and looked out. She was so near me that I very nearly screamed.
"How long have you been here?" I whispered.
"Close on an hour."
"Why didn't you tap on the window or something? I was waiting to let you in."
"I dared not do that. It might have been the kitchen window for all I knew, and then your servant would have seen me."
"But the kitchen is the other side."
"Indeed! And where is the stable?"
"At the bottom of the garden, away from the road."
"How are we going to get to it?"