"It is me," comes up to her ready ear in the open window. Down goes the sash, for the wind might blow on "the baby;" they "have got a baby." In a minute, oh half that time, "me" sees the light through the key-hole, and hears a little step running down stairs. It stops an instant to set the lamp on the table. What for? She could hold it in one hand, while she unlocked the door with the other. Yes, but when the door is open she will have work for both hands—both arms will be around the neck of somebody.
"Heigho, for somebody!" I wish every loving heart had somebody; somebody to say, "It is me."
"Wait a minute."
A little light flashed through the key-hole, then the bolt went back with a click, then the door opened, a night-cap and white gown, a pair of blue eyes, and some pale red curls, were seen a moment, and then a very light scream, and Athalia and Walter were in the dark again. The door was closed in their faces. Was she, too, shut out from her home?
"Open the door, Jeannette. Never mind your night-gown."
"Oh. I cannot; indeed I cannot. That is not all. Charles is here."
Charles there, at that time of night, and she in her night-gown! What can it mean?
"Jeannette, what does it mean?"
"Now, don't go to being angry with me, Athalia." And she opened the door a little way, and looked out. She had slipped on a wrapper, and slipped off the night-cap. What is there in a night-cap, or night-gown, that a lady should be ashamed to be seen in it?
"What does it mean, Jeannette?"