done it. Peggy! yes! but
Peggy could get out. Only the other night she had had a climbing frenzy,
and had slid down the gutter-spout, half for the joy of it, half to
tease Margaret, who was in terror till she reached the ground, and then
in greater terror when the young gymnast came "shinning" up again,
shouting and giggling. The spout! Margaret stood looking at it now. For
a moment her courage deserted her, and she wrung her hands and began to
sob under her breath; but this would not do! Her nerves knew the
resolute shake of the shoulders, and shrank into obedience. She set her
lips firmly, and there crept into her face a certain "dour" look that
may have come from her Scottish ancestors. "If a thing has to be done,
why, it must be done!" she said to herself. "Anyhow, there will be
solid ground at the bottom, not a quaking bog."

Could she do it? She had never climbed in her life. She had been wont to
grow dizzy on any great height; and here she reflected that she had
inwardly laughed at Rita, a few hours before, for growing dizzy at the
sight of blood. "But I have to learn so many lessons!" said poor
Margaret, and with that she laid her hand on the spout. A moment longer
she waited, but no longer in hesitation,--she was simply asking for
strength from One who had never refused it yet; then she clasped the
pipe with both hands, swung herself out as she had seen Peggy do, and
slid down, down, down.

Her hands were torn and bleeding, but she reached the ground in safety,
falling several feet, but escaping with a few bruises which she did not
feel at the time. She ran round the house toward the east wing, where
the gardener's room was, but stopped half-way. The door of the
ground-floor room, her uncle's private room, was open; a light was
burning inside. Possibly John Strong was himself on the watch, and she
need go no farther. Margaret turned hastily, entered the room,--and was
confronted by two young gentlemen in Spanish cloaks and broad-brimmed
hats.

Margaret's first impulse was to run away; her second, to stand and wait,
feeling that she was at a play, and that the next scene was going to be
very thrilling; but the third impulse was the right one, and she stepped
forward, holding out her hand.

"You are my Cousin Carlos, I am sure!" she said, addressing the taller
of the two lads (for they were only lads, she saw to her unspeakable
relief; the elder could not be more than twenty). "I am Margaret
Montfort. You--