sits up alone in a
hushed and sleeping household, a hundred fantastic creaks and sounds
which did not mean anything, and of which he took no notice. Once,
indeed, when it was nearly midnight, he fancied he heard the
garden-gate close hurriedly, but explained it to himself as people do
when they prefer not to give themselves trouble. About one o'clock in
the morning, however, Mr Wentworth could no longer be in any doubt
that some stealthy step was passing his door and moving about the
house. He was not alarmed, for Mrs Hadwin had occasional "attacks,"
like most people of her age; but he put down his pen and listened. No
other sound was to be heard except this stealthy step, no opening of
doors, nor whisper of voices, nor commotion of any kind; and after a
while Mr Wentworth's curiosity was fully awakened. When he heard it
again, he opened his door suddenly, and threw a light upon the
staircase and little corridor into which his room opened. The figure
he saw there startled him more than if it had been a midnight robber.
It was only Sarah, the housemaid, white and shivering with terror, who
fell down upon her knees before him. "Oh, Mr Wentworth, it aint my
fault!" cried Sarah. The poor girl was only partially dressed, and
trembled pitifully. "They'll say it was my fault; and oh, sir, it's my
character I'm a-thinking of," said Sarah, with a sob; and the Curate
saw behind her the door of Wodehouse's room standing open, and the
moonlight streaming into the empty apartment. "I daren't go
down-stairs to see if he's took anything," cried poor Sarah, under her
breath; "there might be more of them about the place. But oh, Mr
Wentworth, if Missis finds out as I gave him the key, what will become
of me?" Naturally, it was her own danger which had most effect upon
Sarah. Her full, good-humoured face was all wet and stained with
crying, her lips quivering, her eyes dilated. Perhaps a thrill of
private disappointment mingled with her dread of losing her character.
"He used to tell me all as he was a-going to do," said Sarah; "but,
oh, sir, he's been and gone away, and I daren't go down-stairs to look
at the plate, and I'll never more sleep in quiet, if I was to live a
century. It aint as I care for _him_, but it's the key and my
character as I'm a-thinking of," cried the poor girl, bursting into
audible sobs that could be restrained no longer. Mr Wentworth took a
candle and went into Wodehouse's empty room, leaving her to recover
her