time to time while he was in Somerset, and I was reading them over
and thinking of William, silly fashion, as a young girl will, and
wishing it had been me was a Roman Catholic and him a Protestant,
because then I could have gone into a convent like the wicked people
in father's story-books. I was in that state of silliness, you see,
that I would have liked to do something for William, even if it was
only going into a convent--to be bricked up alive, perhaps. And then
I hears a scratch, scratch, scratching, and 'Drat the mice,' says I;
but I didn't take any notice, and then there was a little tap,
tapping, like a bird would make with its beak on the window-pane,
and I went and opened it, thinking it was a bird that had lost its
way and was coming foolish-like, as they will, to the light. So I
drew the curtain and opened the window, and it was--William!

'Oh, go away, do,' says I; 'father will hear you.'

He had climbed up by the pear-tree that grew right and left up the
wall, and--

'I ask your pardon,' says he, 'my pretty sweetheart, for making so
free as to come to your window this time of night, but there didn't
seem any other way.'

'Oh, go, dear William, do go,' says I. I expected every moment to
see the door open and father put his head in.

'I'm not going,' said William, 'till you tell me where you'll meet
me to say "Good-bye" and "God bless you," like you said in the
letter.'