" she said to herself, "that after all I am a coward and
have not even nerve and will enough to command the tones of my own
voice? Fie on it! Cowardice is worse than death!"

And summoning all her resolution she spoke up, glibly:

"Patty, come here and unhook my dress."

"Yes, miss, I will just as soon as I get your slippers from unnerneaf of
de bed!"

"I don't want them! Come here this minute and unhook my dress--I can't
breathe! Plague take these country dress-makers--they think the tighter
they screw one up the more fashionable they make one appear! Come, I
say, and set my lungs at liberty."

"Yes, miss, in one minute," said Pitapat; and to Capitola's unspeakable
horror the little maid stooped down and felt along under the side of the
bed, from the head post to the foot post, until she put her hands upon
the slippers and brought them forth! Providentially, the poor little
wretch had not for an instant put her stupid head under the bed, or used
her eyes in the search--that was all that saved them from instant
massacre!

"Here dey is, Caterpillar! I knows how yer foots mus' be as much out of
breaf wid yer tight gaiters as your waist is long of yer tight dress."

"Unhook me!" said Capitola, tilting up the glass lest the child should
see what horrors were reflected there.

The little maid began to obey and Capitola tried to think of some plan
to escape their imminent danger. To obey the natural impulse--to fly
from the room would be instantly fatal--they would be followed and
murdered in the hall before they could possibly give the alarm! And to
whom could she give the alarm when there was not another creature in the
house except Mrs. Condiment?

While she was turning these things over in her mind it occurred to her
that "man's extremity is God's opportunity." Sending up a silent prayer
to heaven for help at need, she suddenly thought of a plan--it was full
of difficulty, uncertainty and peril, affording not one chance in fifty
of success, yet the only possible plan of escape! It was to find some
plausible pretext for leaving the room without exciting suspicion, which
would be fatal. Controlling her tremors, and speaking cheerfully, she
asked:

"Patty, do you know whether there were any of those nice quince tarts
left from dinner?"

"Lor', yes, miss, a heap on 'em! Ole Mis' put 'em away in her cubberd."

"Was there any baked custard left?"

"Lor', yes Miss Caterpillar; dere was nobody but we-dens three, a