“What a baby I am! I need never laugh at poor Josey’s ‘tantrums’ again,” she said to herself. “But the truth is that man has thoroughly mortified me, and I can’t stand mortification. It is my thorn in the flesh.”
Just then it seemed to her that she heard a faint sound in the path behind her. It was too dark to see anything, but Mary’s heart began to beat faster, and jumping down from the heap she hurried on more quickly than before.
“I dare say it’s only a rabbit,” she thought; “but still all round here has a sort of haunted feeling to me.”
She was glad when at last she came upon the flight of steps Mr Cheviott had described. Running up them, the first object that met her sight was Mr Morpeth hastening towards her.
“Miss Western! did you get out of the window? It was frightfully rash,” he exclaimed.
“I did not get out of the window,” replied Mary, shortly. “But that I did not try to do so is no thanks to you, Mr Morpeth.”
“Why, what’s the matter? I have done my very best, I can assure you,” he replied good-naturedly. “I was as quick as I could be, considering all your directions—I don’t think it can be more than half an hour since I left you.”
“Half an hour,” repeated Mary, indignantly. “You talk coolly of not much more than half an hour, but just fancy what that seemed to me. Shut up alone in that horrible room, and in the dark, too!”
“I’m very sorry, but I couldn’t help it.”
“It would not have taken me half an hour, I know,” pursued Mary, “to have run round to the front of the house and find the housekeeper.”