A very Naughty Girl by L.T. Meade

Now, all might have gone well for the little conspirators but for Evelyn herself. But when the girls, tired with talking, tired with the spirit of adventure, had lain down -- Sylvia in Jasper's bed, and Evelyn in the new little white couch which had been got so lovingly ready for her -- Sylvia, tired out, soon fell asleep; but Evelyn could not rest. She was pleased, excited, relieved, but at the same time she had a curious sense of disappointment about her. Her heart beat fast; she wondered what was happening. It seemed to her that in this tiny room at the back of the kitchen she was in a sort of prison. The sense of being in prison was anything but pleasant to this child of a free country and of an untrained mother. She slipped softly out of bed, and going to the window, unbarred the heavy shutters and looked out.

There was a moon in the sky, and the garden stood in streaks of bright light, and of dense shadow where the thick yew-hedge shut away the cold rays of the moon. Evelyn's white little face was pressed against the pane. Pilot stalked up and down outside, now and then baying to the moon, now and then uttering a suspicious bark, but he never glanced in the direction of the window out of which Evelyn looked. To the right of the window lay the hens' run and hen-house which have already been mentioned in these pages. Evelyn knew nothing about them, however; she thought the view ugly and uninteresting. She disliked the thick yew-hedge and the gnarled old yew-tree, and grumbling under her breath, she turned from the window, having quite forgotten to close the shutters. She got into bed now and fell asleep, little knowing what mischief she had done.