sat in the window-seat to watch for her step-father's return.

The time was long. At last he came. She saw him open the carriage door
and reach out a flat foot, feeling for the carriage step. He stepped
out, turned and thrust a hand back into the cab. Was he about to hand
out a stern-faced Protestant sister, who would take her to Westerham,
and she would never be heard of again? Betty set her teeth and waited
anxiously to see if the sister seemed strong. Betty was, and she would
fight for her liberty. With teeth and nails if need were.

It was no Protestant sister to whom the Reverend Cecil had reached his
hand. It was only his umbrella. Betty breathed again.

Well, now at least he'll come and speak to me: he must come himself;
even _he_ couldn't give the key to the servants and say: "Please go
and unlock Miss Lizzie and bring her down!"

Betty would not move. "I shall just stay here and pretend I didn't
know the door was locked," said she.

But her impatience drove her back to the caged-lioness walk and when
at last she heard the key turn in the door she had only just time to
spring to the window-seat and compose herself in an attitude of
graceful defiance.

It was thrown away.

The door only opened wide enough to admit a dinner tray pushed in by a
hand she knew. Then the door closed again.