"Be quiet yourself," said Jane intensely. And they held their breath, listening.
Firm footsteps sounded below—of feet that said at every step, "Why should I go quietly? I have every right to be here." "How different!" thought Jane, comparing his footsteps with their own light, terror-stricken escalade.
Then there were voices. A woman's voice. A man's voice. One excusing, the other reproaching. The clink of a pail's handle against a pail. More words, but undistinguishable. "Let me go—I want to listen; he's scolding her for leaving the door open," said Jane, struggling in Lucilla's grasp.
"No, no, no, no!" said Lucilla fervently. "He'll come up here to see that no burglars have got in."
"Better be found on the landing than hiding in a cupboard. I won't be made a fool of—let go!"
But Lucilla did not let go.
"Oh, don't!" she said. "It would be hateful if we were sent to prison—if he thought we were thieves."
"It would be trying, certainly," Jane answered. "Listen!"
They listened. All was silent. And then, suddenly, echoing through the great empty house came the heavy bang of a door. The front door. Footsteps on gravel. Silence.
"There," said Jane, "now you've done it! What absolute asses we are! . . ."
"Well,thank goodness you haven't" said Lucilla. "We're not branded as burglars, anyhow."
"A was an absolute ass, B was a branded burglar," said Jane, pushing open the cupboard door. "And now we've to get out somehow."
"Does it occur to you," said Lucilla sweetly, "that their going away may be a ruse? They may be watching the house."
"My hat!" said Jane briefly. And stood stock still.
"I think we ought to wait a little, don't you?"
"We ought to get out of it," Jane insisted. "If we're caught in the garden it's nothing to being caught in the house.
