Enckworth Court was not unknown to Christopher, for he had frequently explored that spot in his Sandbourne days.  He perceived now why she had selected that particular balcony for handing down directions; it was the only one round the house that was low enough to be reached from the outside, the basement here being a little way sunk in the ground.

He went close under, turned his face outwards, and waited.  About a foot over his head was the stone floor of the balcony, forming a ceiling to his position.  At his back, two or three feet behind, was a blank wall—­the wall of the house.  In front of him was the misty park, crowned by a sky sparkling with winter stars.  This was abruptly cut off upward by the dark edge of the balcony which overhung him.

It was as if some person within the room above had been awaiting his approach.  He had scarcely found time to observe his situation when a human hand and portion of a bare arm were thrust between the balusters, descended a little way from the edge of the balcony, and remained hanging across the starlit sky.  Something was between the fingers.  Christopher lifted his hand, took the scrap, which was paper, and the arm was withdrawn.  As it withdrew, a jewel on one of the fingers sparkled in the rays of a large planet that rode in the opposite sky.

Light steps retreated from the balcony, and a window closed.  Christopher had almost held his breath lest Ethelberta should discover him at the critical moment to be other than Sol, and mar her deliverance by her alarm.  The still silence was anything but silence to him; he felt as if he were listening to the clanging chorus of an oratorio.  And then he could fancy he heard words between Ethelberta and the viscount within the room; they were evidently at very close quarters, and dexterity must have been required of her.  He went on tiptoe across the gravel to the grass, and once on that he strode in the direction whence he had come.  By the thick trunk of one of a group of aged trees he stopped to get a light, just as the Court clock struck six in loud long tones.  The transaction had been carried out, through her impatience possibly, four or five minutes before the time appointed.

The note contained, in a shaken hand, in which, however, the well-known characters were distinguishable, these words in pencil: 

‘At half-past seven o’clock.  Just outside the north lodge; don’t fail.’

This was the time she had suggested to Sol as that which would probably best suit her escape, if she could escape at all.  She had changed the place from the west to the north lodge—­nothing else.  The latter was certainly more secluded, though a trifle more remote from the course of the proposed journey; there was just time enough and none to spare for fetching the brougham from Little Enckworth to the lodge, the village being two miles off.  The few minutes gained by her readiness at the balcony were useful now.  He started at once for the village, diverging somewhat to observe the spot appointed for the meeting.  It was excellently chosen; the gate appeared to be little used, the lane outside it was covered with trees, and all around was silent as the grave.  After this hasty survey by the wan starlight, he hastened on to Little Enckworth.