A Fluttered Dovecote

that was onpurpose to annoy me, and because she knew that I did not like it.

  But though Clara had at one time vowed that she would not help me, shenever, in the slightest degree, went against any of my plans; but evenwent so far as to allow herself to be turned into a passivepost-office--if I may use the expression--by holding a note for Achillein her French grammar, and bringing back another when she had had herregular scolding--for she certainly was very stupid over her French,though at one time she had manifested considerable ability over herItalian, while she sketched beautifully.

  I managed the place for a meeting, at last; though, after all, it wasbut a very tiresome place, but, under the circumstances, better thannothing. There was no going out of a night now, even if we had felt soinclined; and, really and truly, after what we had gone through, I feltvery little disposed to attempt such a thing again; for Miss Furnessused to collect regularly every night all the downstairs keys in abasket, and then take them up to Mrs Blunt's room; and I feel convincedthat those four old tabbies used to have something hot in one of thebedrooms. Clara used to say that she could smell it; and yet they wouldall make a fuss at dinner about never touching ale or porter. All Iknow is, that Miss Furness's nose never would have looked so red if sheonly drank water always. They used to think that we did not know oftheir sitting up of a night; but Clara and I soon found that out, for webegan to lie and listen, and could tell well enough that the Frauleinwas not in her own room; while every now and then, from some other part,we could hear her blowing her nose with a noise loud enough to alarm thewhole house. There never was such a woman before for blowing noses, I'msure. Why, she could blow her nose as loud as a churchwarden, or a PoorLaw guardian, who, as it is well known, can, after county magistrates onthe bench, make more noise than any one upon that particular organ. Itwas quite dreadful to hear the Fraulein trumpeting about, like one ofthose horrid brass things the soldiers play in the bands--stretchingout, and pulling in, and working about, and looking so dangerous.

  And now I am going to tell you about my plan for an interview; though Imight have spared my poor brains all the trouble, for it never dideither of us a bit of good, in spite of all my scheming and management Itold you that the downstairs doors were always locked now of a night,and that Miss Furness collected all the keys, so that it was quite outof the question to think of trying to get into either of the lower roomsto talk out of the window; so I thought, and thought, and thought, andpuzzled, and puzzled, and puzzled, and bored my poor brains, till atlast I remembered the empty room at the end of the passage.

  "Well, but how ever could he get up there to talk to you?" said Clara;"it's a second floor window."

  "Why, come up a ladder, of course," I said.

  "But how is he to get one there?" said Clara. "Bring some bricklayersand scaffold poles, and have a scaffold made on purpose?"

  "Why, a rope ladder, goosey," I said. "Don't you see?"

  But Clara said she could not see, and that she believed that, exceptingin ships, there were no such things as rope ladders, and all those thatyou read of in books were manufactured in people's brains, and neverhelped anybody yet up to a window; while as to ladies eloping down them,that was all nonsense, for she did not think the woman was living whocould get either up or down one of the swingle-swangle things. And thenshe said that it would not be safe; but I knew better, and told her so,for I was not going to have my plan set aside for a trifle. So then Iset to and wrote a letter to Achille.

  Since Clara had laughed so terribly, I had not liked to send money inthe notes by her; and poor Achille had sent me such a despairing note,telling me how that he must see me--one of the most grievous,broken-hearted notes possible. I declare I don't know what he did notsay he would do if he could not see me soon.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

  MEMORY THE FOURTEENTH--ANTICIPATED JOYS.

  I wrote and told Achille all my plans, using the top of the drawers fora writing desk, and letting Patty Smith think that I was doing anexercise; for I was so horribly deceitful, writing upon exercise paper,and referring now and then to dictionary and grammar, as if fordifferent words. I told him he was to get hooks made that would fitover the inside of the window-sill, and he was to buy a rope ladder, andI would let down a string and draw it up, and hook it on, when he couldeasily run up and stand upon the great, wide ledge beneath the secondfloor windows--a large, ornamental cornice that ran nearly round thehouse--and there stop and talk to me whenever it was a dark night.

  I soon managed, through Clara, for him to have the note; and the nexttime he came he was quite radiant with joy, and praised all the girls'exercises, though some of them were really execrable I would not look athim, but soon after he was gone Clara slipped a note into my hand, whichsaid that he would be under the window that night at half-past twelve,and that I was to be sure and have a ball of string ready to let downand draw up the ladder, which he had been obliged to make himself; forthough he could buy cord enough everywhere in London, there was not sucha thing as a rope ladder to be got.

  "There, I told you so," said Clara, laughing. "Rope ladder, indeed. Idon't believe people ever did sell such things; and you see now if hedon't stick halfway up, like a great fly in a spider's web, till LadyBlunt comes, as the spider, and sticks a great knitting needle into hisbody to kill him. And then she'll call all the other spiders, and allfour of them will set to and devour your poor Achille--for they arealmost ready to eat him every day, as it is."

  "Don't talk such stuff," I said pettishly, though I could not helpthinking of Miss Furness and her penchant for Achille, though I knew hehated her.

  It did sound so romantic and chivalrous, in spite of Clara's ill-naturedprattle, having one's lover coming up a ladder of ropes in the stillymidnight hour, when all were dreaming around. It put me in mind ofladies' bowers, and knights, and cavaliers, and elopements; anddreaming, as I did, I almost began to fancy myself a damsel in distressabout to be rescued. I stood there, in our room, in such a sweet, raptmeditation--such a blissful, dreamy, musing fit--when that Clara broughtme right down out of the I don't know how manyeth heaven, by saying--

  "And where's your string?"

  I had not thought of that, and it was a puzzle. I had plenty of crochetcotton, and bobbin, and Berlin wool; but then, they were none of themstrong enough. Time to buy any there was none; for he was coming thatnight loaded with his dear ladder; while if I tried to get any from thekitchen, some one would be sure to ask what it was wanted for, then whatcould I say? And, besides, I had told so many dreadful stories already,and prevaricated so much, that I was quite ashamed.

  The first thing I determined upon was to make a long plait of mycoloured wools; but I soon found that there would not be one quarterenough; then I thought of the girls' slate strings, which held thesponges, and determined to make a raid into the schoolroom and cut themall off, though I felt sure they would not be enough. If I could onlyhave gone out and bought a ball, or sent James, it would have been allright; but that was impossible without first asking Mrs Blunt. Onlythe week before, a stupid boy's kite came flapping over into the garden,with no end of string, which I might have cut off with my scissors; butI never imagined then that I should want any.

  However, I did what I generally do when I want to think deeply, I tooksome eau de Cologne and bathed my temples, and then sat down before theglass, with my hair all thrown back, and my head resting upon my hand,trying to solve the problem, and wondering what Achille could see in meto like; while just then I remember wondering what had become of poorMr Saint Purre.

  What was I to do? that was the question. I might have cut ever so manystrings off my clothes, but then I was sure they would not make halfenough; and, after boring my poor brains all sorts of ways, I was quitein despair--for it did seem too bad to be put off by such a beggarlylittle trifle as a bit of string, when two or three of those little,cheating penny balls, that are made so big by winding a very littlestring round a very big hole would have set me up for good. I wantedClara to s
muggle the clothes line from the laundry, which would havedone admirably; but the nasty thing would not, and tried to make fun ofit all by declaring that it was in use; and she would not stir a peg. Icould not go myself to see if what she said was true--at least, I darenot; and, there, if it was not tea-time, and we should be rung down in afew minutes. Once I thought of tearing up something into long shreds,and tying them together; and it seemed at last that that would be theplan, and I should have put it into execution, if all at once I had nothad a bright thought flash through my head, and felt disposed to callout "Excelsior?" like mamma did when she saw Mrs Blunt's horridadvertisement, and meant "Eureka" all the time.

  And what do you think the happy thought was? Why, the lumber-room,where the girls' school boxes were put, along with their cords; and Iwas