I am writing four days later than my last sentence, and I wonder whether
things have finished beginning to happen.
Grandmamma's Tuesday was the day after I writ. The Newtons were
there,--at least Mrs Newton and Miss Theresa,--and ever so many people
whom I knew and cared nothing about. My Lady Parmenter came early, but
did not stay long; and very late, long after every one else, Ephraim
Hebblethwaite. Mr Raymond I did not see, and have not done so for
several times.
I was not much inclined to talk, and I got into a corner with some
pictures which I had seen twenty times, and turned them over just as an
excuse for keeping quiet. All at once I heard Ephraim's voice at my
side:
"Cary, I want to speak to you. Go on looking at those pictures: other
ears are best away. How is Hatty?"
"She is better," I said; "but she is not the old Hatty."
"I don't think the old Hatty will come back," he said. "Perhaps the new
one may be better. Are the Miss Bracewells gone home?"
"They start to-morrow," said I.
"Cary, I am going to ask you something. Don't show any surprise. Are
you a brave girl?"
"I hardly know," said I, resisting the temptation to look up and see
what he meant. "Why?"
"Because a woman is wanted for a piece of work, and we think you would
answer."
"What piece of work?--and who are `we'?" I asked, turning over some
views of Rome with very little notion what they were.
"`We' are Colonel Keith, Raymond, and myself."
"And what `piece of work'?" I asked again.
"To attempt the rescue of Angus."
"How?--what am I to do?"
"Did you ever try to personate anybody?"
"Well, we used to act little pieces sometimes at Carlisle, I and the
Grandison girls and Lucretia Carnwath. There has never been anything of
the sort here."
"Did they think you did it well?"
"Lucretia Carnwath and Diana Grandison were thought the best performers;
but once they said I made a capital housemaid."
"Were you ever a laundress?"
"No, but I dare say I could have managed it."
"Are you willing to try?"
"I am ready to do anything, if it will help Angus. I don't see at
present how my playing the laundress is to do that."
"You will not play it on a mock stage in a drawing-room, but in reality.
Neither you nor I are to do the hardest part of the work; Colonel Keith
takes that."
"What have I to do?"
"To carry a basket of clothes into the prison, and bring it out again."
"I hope Angus will not be in the basket," said I, trying to smother my
laughter; "I could not carry him."
"Oh, no," replied Ephraim, laughing too. "Now listen."
"I am all attention," said I.
"Next Tuesday evening, about nine o'clock, slip out of this room, and
throw a large cloak over your dress--one that will quite hide you. You
will find me at the foot of the back-stairs. We shall go out of the
back-door, and get to Raymond's house. A lady, whom you will find
there, will help you to put on the dress which is prepared. Then you
and I (who are brother and sister, if you please) will carry the basket
to the prison. Just before reaching it, I shall pretend to hear
something, and run off to see what is the matter. You will be left
alone (in appearance), and will call after me in vain, and abuse me
roundly when I do not return, declaring that you cannot possibly carry
that heavy basket in alone. Then, but not before, you will descry a
certain William standing close by,--who will be Colonel Keith,--and
showing surprise at seeing him there, will ask him to help you with the
basket. He and you will carry the basket into the prison, and you will
stand waiting a little while, during which time he will (with the
connivance of a warder in our pay) visit Angus's cell. Presently
`William' will return to you, but it will be Angus and not Keith. You
are to scold him for having kept you such an unconscionable time, and,
declaring that you will have no more to do with him, to take up the
empty basket and walk off. Our warder will then declare that he cannot
do with all this row,--you must make as much noise as you can,--and push
you both out of the prison door. Angus will follow you, expressing
penitence and begging to be allowed to carry the basket, but you are not
to let him. A few yards from the prison, I shall come running out of a
side-street, seize the basket, give Angus a thump or two with it and bid
him be off, for I am not going to have such good-for-noughts loitering
about and making up to my sister. He will pretend to be cowed, and run
away, and you will then abuse me in no measured terms for having left
you without protector, in the first place, and for having behaved so
badly to your dear Will in the second. When we are out of sight, we may
gradually drop our pretended quarrel; and when we reach Mr Raymond's
house, you will return to Caroline Courtenay, and I shall be Ephraim
Hebblethwaite. There is the programme. Can you carry out your part?--
and are you willing?"
My heart stood still a moment, and then came up and throbbed violently
in my throat.
"Could I? Yes, I think I could. But I want to know something first.
How far I am willing will depend on circumstances. What is going to
become of Colonel Keith in this business?"
"He takes Angus's place--don't you see?"
"Yes, but when Angus has got away, how is he to escape?"
"God knoweth. It is not likely that he can."
"And do you mean to say that Colonel Keith is to be sacrificed to save
Angus?"
"The sacrifice is his own. The proposal comes from himself."
"And you mean to _let_ him?"
"Not if I could do it myself," was the quiet answer.
"I don't want you to do it. Is there nobody else?"
"No one except Keith, Raymond, and myself. Raymond is too tall, and I
am not tall enough. Keith and Angus are just of a height."
"And if Colonel Keith cannot escape, what will become of him?"
Silence answered me,--a silence which said far more than words.
"Ephraim, Colonel Keith is worth fifty of Angus."
"I have not spent these weeks at his bedside, Cary, without finding that
out."
"And is the worse to be bought with the better?"
"It was done once, upon the hill of Calvary. And `This is My
commandment, that ye love one another as I have loved you.'"