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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"Cressy"


He remained silent in the shadow. The school-room was not far from the
trail where she would have had to pass going home from the ball. But
why had she come there? had they seen him arrive? and were mischievously
watching him? The sound of Cressy's voice and the lifting of the
unprotected window near the door convinced him to the contrary.
"There, that'll do. Now you two can step aside. 'Tave, take him over to
yon fence, and keep him there till I get in. No--thank you, sir--I can
assist myself. I've done it before. It ain't the first time I've been
through this window, is it, 'Tave?"
Ford's heart stopped beating. There was a moment of laughing
expostulation, the sound of retreating voices, the sudden darkening of
the window, the billowy sweep of a skirt, the faint quick flash of
a little ankle, and Cressy McKinstry swung herself into the room and
dropped lightly on the floor.
She advanced eagerly up the moonlit passage between the two rows of
benches. Suddenly she stopped; the master rose at the same moment with
outstretched warning hand to check the cry of terror he felt sure would
rise to her lips.


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