Page:Once a Week Volume 8.djvu/370

362 space of about a yard. The staircase of the old house led from what had been the hall (now filled with gardening tools and accumulations of out-door rubbish) into a room on the first floor, and up into the top room with the three windows. At some former time it had been proposed to use both the old and new buildings for domestic purposes, and a bridge passage had been built between the first-floor landing of the old staircase, and the room which I occupied. The door which led from my room to the little passage had been since furnished with many stout locks and bolts, but they were all on my side. It was a special delight to me to escape through my own door, and wander about the premises. I had taken possession of the great attic with the great old windows, and there I kept my treasures, and did my best-loved work, as my father in his lighthouse. My father condoned my independence, and would only say, as he bade me good night:

“Mind you lock your private front door, little missie. I would not have thee stolen.”

On the night in question, I lay long awake. I heard all the servants who slept in the house mount to their rooms. Then I heard my father locking and barring the two doors of the passage, and ascend in his turn, pausing a minute to listen at my room, before he retired to his own. Still I lay awake, and grew restless in my bed. I began to think of all that I had done in the day, and of all I meant to do to-morrow. I was going down; to fish in the beck with Beriah, the stable-help, and Mary, the dairywoman. I had been cutting a new hazel top to my rod, up in my sanctum in the old buildings. And where was my knife that I had been cutting with? My knife that my father had brought me from the town a year ago, and that I loved so very fondly? I had left it in the attic. Of course no one would go there. It was quite safe. But how silly to leave it! Could I go and fetch it? No: certainly not. My father would be very angry with me for going out in the night. I must go to sleep. But I should like to see how the attic looks in the bright moonlight that shines in my room. I cannot do any harm by going out. And I cannot sleep. And I hate to lie awake. The Dutch clock on the stairs strikes eleven. The house has been quite still for an hour and a half.

I stepped gently out of my bed, and stole to the window. How sharply outlined thé shadows were. I remember the whole scene now. Great clouds were coursing over the sky, and presently the moon would be hid. I turned the key in the lock of my own door. It moved so silently and easily, that I could not help pulling back the bolts. In another minute I was in my attic. You may think that I was a very courageous girl, and very unlike most of the children you know. Perhaps children nowadays have more foolish ideas in their heads, than those of seventy years ago. I knew nothing to be afraid of. There lay my rod, and there was my cherished knife, its blade looking very blue in the moonlight. I shut it, and vowed never to be so careless again. How strange the room looked! Everything was very black, or very bright, and the broad mullions made great stripes of shadow over the floor. I feasted my eyes at the big window, and then I turned to the little one. Opposite to me rose up the steep tiled roof, and at the top was the lighthouse, its vane shining in the clear light, and its windows looking just as though there were a candle inside. I had turned to go down to my bed again, for I was beginning to be conscious that it was cold, when I saw the window of the lighthouse that was nearest to me slowly open. I cannot say that I was exactly afraid, even then. I was spell-bound with astonishment, and stood motionless to watch. The sash was raised, and a man cautiously got out. He moved awkwardly, and seemed to have his hands tied. Then he began to descend the roof very slowly, and very warily. He leaned back against the tiles, and lodging his feet and elbows in their projections, advanced inch by inch along his perilous journey, with his hands still in front of him. I had just time to recognise his features, when the great cloud came over the moon, and in the sudden gloom of the comparative darkness, I could see little. But I had seen enough now. The man was one James Connor, a labourer on the farm. He had come to the house some weeks ago, and though my father knew nothing of him, and he looked like a mere tramp, he had been received. His fellow-servants had complained, once or twice, that he was a drunkard, but he had promised amendment. He was in the kitchen when my father had indiscreetly answered my indiscreet question. What he was doing was clear enough. He had passed through my father’s room before the house was closed for the night, had concealed himself in the garret till all was still, and had then mounted to the lighthouse to steal the money. He could not descend through my father’s room without rousing him. Nor was it needful to do so. He knew the premises well, and was aware that if he could descend the roof, and gain the little window, he could at once reach the farm-yard, and so make his way whithersoever he would. All this flashed through my mind as the cloud fell over the moon. In a moment I was watching more eagerly through the night, as the dim figure crept heedfully downward. He wore his shirt, and stockings, and shoes, and a pair of rough breeches. In his hands he held his spoils, perhaps because he wore no pockets; perhaps, because, as his stupid look showed, he was half drunk, and ran the risk of marring his plot, and maiming himself for life, by his folly. This I could not explain. I only saw him coming lower, lower, lower, with my father’s gold clasped in his hands. The bottom sash alone was standing in the window, about a yard from the floor in height, and there was nothing between us but the abyss between the two buildings. I was hidden completely in the dark corner of the window. I thought the man must fall. He reached the cornice in safety, and stood up for a second before he stept across. Then he stept from roof to roof, and in a moment was leaning over the sash, supporting himself upon it by his arms, and resting his feet on the gutter that ran round the wall outside.

All this time I had simply watched. I had not thought what to do. I could not run away for help. I was chained to the spot. I knew that if