"That" was a footstep on the gravel outside.
"Idiots!" said Jane, and flung a duster over the money. "If it's a burglar," she whispered—"well, we've been asking for it, sitting here with candles, making a show of our money and our unprotectedness."
"It's out in the road," said Lucilla in the same low voice.
"It isn't," said Jane. And it wasn't. For the next moment the footstep was heard, not on gravel, but on granite, and the figure of a man blotted out the picture of the moonlit lawn. Jane stood up between the door and the duster-covered table, and said, "What do you want?" rather sharply, and, "Oh, it's you!" in tones that were a little flat. She sat down suddenly.
"I thought you were a burglar," she said, "Yes—I know we thoroughly deserve that you should be."
"Well,"said young Mr. Rochester, "I thought that myself the prospect might be tempting to a not thoroughly high-principled passer-by. So I thought you wouldn't mind my coming in—in the character of watch-dog. May I help you with the shutters? I suppose you're going to close the shop soon?"
"We have a vow in heaven," said Jane, "not to close the shop till the accounts come right."
"And they never will, you know," said Lucilla in gentle desperation; "unless . . ." she added, with a sudden ray of hope, "unless you can do sums?"
He could; he did. He brought the sundries to the irreducible minimum of elevenpence. He made the books look balanced, at any rate, and announced the takings for the week at four pounds, six and twopence, a total which had for the young accountants the double charm of comparative magnitude and complete novelty.
Then he helped them to put up the shutters and to lock door and gate. And that was the beginning of Mr. John Rochester's activities as accountant to the flower business. "You see," he pointed out when the girls protested politely, "it's a positive charity to give me something to
