But how to trust her voice to do this? A single quaver in her tones would betray her consciousness of their presence to the lurking robbers and prove instantly fatal!
Happily Capitola's pride in her own courage came to her aid.
"Is it possible," she said to herself, "that after all I am a coward and have not even nerve and will enough to command the tones of my own voice? Fie on it! Cowardice is worse than death!"
And summoning all her resolution she spoke up, glibly: "Patty, come here and unhook my dress."
"Yes, miss, I will just as soon as I get your slippers from unnerneaf of de bed!"
"I don't want them! Come here this minute and unhook my dress--I can't breathe! Plague take these country dress-makers--they think the tighter they screw one up the more fashionable they make one appear! Come, I say, and set my lungs at liberty."
"Yes, miss, in one minute," said Pitapat; and to Capitola's unspeakable horror the little maid stooped down and felt along under the side of the bed, from the head post to the foot post, until she put her hands upon the slippers and brought them forth! Providentially, the poor little wretch had not for an instant put her stupid head under the bed, or used her eyes in the search--that was all that saved them from instant massacre!
"Here dey is, Caterpillar! I knows how yer foots mus' be as much out of breaf wid yer tight gaiters as your waist is long of yer tight dress."
"Unhook me!" said Capitola, tilting up the glass lest the child should see what horrors were reflected there.
The little maid began to obey and Capitola tried to think of some plan to escape their imminent danger. To obey the natural impulse--to fly from the room would be instantly fatal--they would be followed and murdered in the hall before they could possibly give the alarm! And to whom could she give the alarm when there was not another creature in the house except Mrs. Condiment?
While she was turning these things over in her mind it occurred to her that "man's extremity is God's opportunity." Sending up a silent prayer to heaven for help at need, she suddenly thought of a plan--it was full of difficulty, uncertainty and peril, affording not one chance in fifty of success, yet the only possible plan of escape! It was to find some plausible pretext for leaving the room without exciting suspicion, which would be fatal. Controlling her tremors, and speaking cheerfully, she asked: "Patty, do you know whether there were any of those nice quince tarts left from dinner?"