She did not mean to go to sleep; but she was tired out and fell into
a sound slumber. When she awoke it was with a start. It was still dark; but
she had a clear idea of being wakened by some distinct, rattling noise.
There it was once more--against the window, like a shower of shot. She
went to the lattice, and opened it to look out. She had that strange
consciousness, not to be described, of the near neighborhood of some human
creature, although she neither saw nor heard any one for the first instant.
Then Edward spoke in a hoarse whisper, right below the window, standing on
the flower-beds.
"Maggie! Maggie! Come down and let me in. For your life, don't make any
noise. No one must know."
Maggie turned sick. Something was wrong, evidently; and she was weak and
weary. However, she stole down the old creaking stairs, and undid the heavy
bolt, and let her brother in. She felt that his dress was quite wet, and
she led him, with cautious steps, into the kitchen, and shut the door, and
stirred the fire, before she spoke. He sank into a chair, as if worn out
with fatigue. She stood, expecting some explanation. But when she saw he
could not speak, she hastened to make him a cup of tea; and, stooping down,
took off his wet boots, and helped him off with his coat, and brought her
own plaid to wrap round him. All this time her heart sunk lower and lower.
He allowed her to do what she liked, as if he were an automaton; his head
and his arms hung loosely down, and his eyes were fixed, in a glaring way,
on the fire.
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