Twilight came at last, the longed-for dusk, in which the attempt was to be
made. Clarissa had put on one of her darkest plainest dresses, and borrowed
a little black-straw bonnet of her maid's. This bonnet and her sealskin
jacket she deferred putting on until the last; for there was always the
fear that Mr. Granger might come in at some awkward moment. At half-past
five Jane Target went to the nursery and fetched the year-old heir of Arden
Court.
He was always glad to go to his mother; and he came to-night crowing and
laughing, and kicking his little blue shoes in boisterous rapture. Jane
kept guard at the door while Clarissa put on her bonnet and jacket, and
wrapped up the baby--first in a warm fur-lined opera-jacket, and then in a
thick tartan shawl. They had no hat for him, but tied up his pretty flaxen
head in a large silk handkerchief, and put the shawl over that. The little
fellow submitted to the operation, which he evidently regarded in the light
of an excellent joke.
Everything was now ready. Clarissa carried her baby, Jane went before with
the bag, leading the way down the darksome servants' staircase, where at
any moment they might meet one of Mr. Granger's retainers. Luckily, they
met no one; the descent only occupied about two minutes; and at the bottom
of the stairs, Clarissa found herself in a small square stone lobby,
lighted by a melancholy jet of gas, and pervaded by the smell of cooking.
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