Standing at the window, she looked down at the pavement of the courtyard--it was far enough below to kill her instantly if she fell on it.

Through the heat of her anger there crept the chill and stealthy prompting of despair.

She leaned over the window-sill--she was not afraid--she might have done it, but for a trifling interruption.
Somebody spoke outside.
It was the parlour-maid.

Instead of entering the room, she spoke through the open door.

The woman was one of Miss Minerva's many enemies in the house.