“’Tis nothing,” she said, with a touch of asperity when he showed it to her; “the maid threw a broken flower pot from the upper window, and this earth was no doubt spilled out as it fell—there are the remnants of the jar by the fence.”
The guard bowed and withdrew; but there was a supercilious smile on his face, which filled her with nervous apprehension. In a hasty resentment that the man perhaps guessed at her duplicity, she could have struck him.
And yet a second time was she thrown into consternation, when her mother discovered the loss of the attic key from her bunch.
“Oh, it is not lost! I broke the string yesterday night, and doubtless I missed this one when I strung them up again. It is in my room this minute, I dare swear. Is there aught you need in the attic now?”
“Nay, I but feared the key was lost.”
“Well, let me first finish this round of knitting and I will hunt it. Mother,” she went on, after a pause, during which she picked up her stitches industriously, “had you not better go over and make my peace with Aunt Clevering? She was most angry with me last night.”
“And good cause she had, Joscelyn; methinks I never heard any one make so rude a speech. What put you to it?”
“In faith, mother, I cannot tell. It was cruel and unwarranted, and you may tell her I say so, and that I am bitterly sorry. Make any excuse you please, only make it at once, for you know Aunt Clevering’s displeasure grows like a mushroom when left to itself.”
She had small hope that her aunt would be appeased, but she wanted her mother out of the way that she might carry her prisoner something to eat. It was close upon one o’clock, and not a morsel had she been able to give him. She drew the bolt of the front door after her mother, who was nothing loath to go upon this peace errand; and hurrying to the dining room, made hasty preparation to relieve Richard’s needs. She was not used to doing things upon the sly, and her heart was in hot rebellion that she must stoop to such a thing among her own servants. There were hard lines of determination about her mouth, but the hands that sliced the meat and buttered the bread shook a little. Even when on the stair, she turned back, startled by a sound in the hall; but it was only the cat romping with her little ones, and so once more she went on. Softly she unlocked the attic door, and stepped in. The room was in partial twilight, having no window, but she saw Richard coming to meet her.
“No May-day sunshine was ever half so welcome,” he whispered, taking her hand in both of his. “Tell me how matters have gone this morning. I have fretted myself into a fever lest I bring some annoyance upon you. And now you must promise me that if discovery comes, you will forswear all knowledge of my being here. I shall claim that the key was in the lock, and after I was inside, some one came and closed the door. Thus will you be free from blame.”