“I shall cut them out of the frames,” she said.  “Listen!  What’s that?”

It was the sound of whistling, which stopped beneath the window.  The girls, clasping each other’s hands, dropped on their knees.

“Hallo!” cried a voice.

Greta crept to the window, and, placing her face level with the floor, peered over.

“It is only Dr. Edmund; he doesn’t know, then,” she whispered; “I shall call him; he is going away!” cried Christian catching her sister’s —­“Don’t!” cried Christian catching her sister’s dress.

“He would help us,” Greta said reproachfully, “and it would not be so dark if he were here.”

Christian’s cheeks were burning.

“I don’t choose,” she said, and began handling the pictures, feeling their edges with her knife.

“Chris!  Suppose anybody came?”

“The door is screwed,” Christian answered absently.

“O Chris!  We screwed it unscrewed; anybody who wishes shall come!”

Christian, leaning her chin in her hands, gazed at her thoughtfully.

“It will take a long time to cut these pictures out carefully; or, perhaps I can get them out without cutting.  You must screw me up and go home.  In the morning you must come early, when the gate is open, unscrew me again, and help carry the pictures.”

Greta did not answer at once.  At last she shook her head violently.

“I am afraid,” she gasped.

“We can’t both stay here all night,” said Christian; “if any one comes to our room there will be nobody to answer.  We can’t lift these pictures over the gate.  One of us must go back; you can climb over the gate—­there is nothing to be afraid of”

Greta pressed her hands together.

“Do you want the pictures badly, Chris?”

Christian nodded.

“Very badly?”

“Yes—­yes—­yes!”

Greta remained sitting where she was, shivering violently, as a little animal shivers when it scents danger.  At last she rose.

“I am going,” she said in a despairing voice.  At the doorway she turned.

“If Miss Naylor shall ask me where you are, Chris, I shall be telling her a story.”

Christian started.

“I forgot that—­O Greta, I am sorry!  I will go instead.”

Greta took another step—­a quick one.

“I shall die if I stay here alone,” she said; “I can tell her that you are in bed; you must go to bed here, Chris, so it shall be true after all.”

Christian threw her arms about her.

“I am so sorry, darling; I wish I could go instead.  But if you have to tell a lie, I would tell a straight one.”

“Would you?” said Greta doubtfully.

“Yes.”

“I think,” said Greta to herself, beginning to descend the stairs, “I think I will tell it in my way.”  She shuddered and went on groping in the darkness.

Christian listened for the sound of the screws.  It came slowly, threatening her with danger and solitude.