Robbins permitted himself to be guided by the girl, for though he may have felt sure as to the route, it was best to so act that a blunder was out of the question.
We were lucky enough not to run across any gardener, and the idea flashed into my mind that this fellow might be busily engaged fastening the door in the wall.
Hildegarde bore herself well, I am bound to admit—many women must have been dreadfully shocked by the clamorous racket which we had aroused, and bordered close upon hysterics; but she was able to contain herself, though I had no doubt that she must be trembling violently.
Somehow a wave of great pity seemed to fill my heart, for it was truly a most abominable situation for any lady as gently bred as I knew her to have been, carefully sheltered from all scenes of violence, and with the blood of peace-loving Quakers running in her veins.
Then the wall loomed up ahead.
How dreadfully lofty it seemed—I had paid little attention to its height before, but now it appalled me, for there seemed a chance that should the door be closed to our exit we must clamber over the wall in some way if we would escape.
There was a moving figure that caught my attention—coming toward us on the run, and as he rushed into the glow of a lantern that hung from a bush loaded with flowers, I saw that it was the gardener.
He held something in his hand which I immediately determined was the key to the door, the panacea for all our troubles.
Apparently he caught sight of us at about the same time, for his forward motion ceased, and it looked very much as though he were about to begin a retrograde one.
Here was my chance.