'I'm Jerry, and I comed from the carpet-bag in the Tramp House. Take me in, won't you?' Jerry said; and, mechanically leaning from the window, Arthur took her in, while Harold from below looked on, horror-struck with fear as to what the result might be if Jerry were left any time alone with a madman who did not like children.
'He may kill her; I must tell the folks,' he said; and, going round to the side door, he entered, without knocking, and asked for Mrs. Tracy.
But she was not at home, and so he told the servants of Jerry's danger, and begged them to go to her rescue.
'Pshaw, he won't hurt her. Charles will come pretty soon, and I'll send him up. Don't look so scared; he is harmless,' the cook said to Harold, who, in a wild state of nervous fear, went back to the cherry trees, where he could listen and hear the first scream which should proclaim Jerry's danger.
But none came, and could he have looked into the room, where Jerry sat, or rather stood, he would have been amazed.
As Arthur lifted Jerry through the window, and put her down upon the floor, he said to her:
'Take off that bonnet and let me look at you.'
She obeyed and stood before him with all her wealth of hair tumbling about her glowing face, and an eager, questioning expression in her blue eyes, which looked at him so fearlessly. Arthur knew perfectly well who she was, but something about her so dazed and bewildered him that for a moment he could not speak, but stared at her with the hungry, wistful look of one longing for something just within his reach, but still unattainable.
'Do you like me?' Jerry asked at last.
'Like you?' he replied. 'Yes. Why did you not come to me sooner?'