She clung, trembling with agitation, to my arm.
“John Jago!” she whispered.
You will think my obstinacy invincible. I could hardly believe it, even then!
“Where?” I asked.
“In the back-yard,” she replied, “under my bedroom window!”
The emergency was far too serious to allow of any consideration for the small proprieties of every-day life.
“Let me see him!” I said.
“I am here to fetch you,” she answered, in her frank and fearless way. “Come upstairs with me.”
Her room was on the first floor of the house, and was the only bedroom which looked out on the back-yard. On our way up the stairs she told me what had happened.
“I was in bed,” she said, “but not asleep, when I heard a pebble strike against the window-pane. I waited, wondering what it meant. Another pebble was thrown against the glass. So far, I was surprised, but not frightened. I got up, and ran to the window to look out. There was John Jago looking up at me in the moonlight!”