The first grey of twilight had come upon the world before she
thought of going downstairs. A match-safe hung upon the window
casing, newly filled, and, mindful of her trust, she lighted the
lamp and closed the window. Then a sudden scream from the floor
below startled her.

"Miss Thorne! Miss Thorne!" cried a shrill voice. "Come here!
Quick!"

White as a sheet, Ruth flew downstairs and met Hepsey in the
hall. "What on earth is the matter!" she gasped.

"Joe's come with your trunk," responded that volcanic young
woman, amiably; "where'd you want it put?"

"In the south front room," she answered, still frightened, but
glad nothing more serious had happened. "You mustn't scream like
that."

"Supper's ready," resumed Hepsey, nonchalantly, and Ruth followed
her down to the little dining-room.

As she ate, she plied the maid with questions. "Does Miss
Hathaway light that lamp in the attic every night?"

"Yes'm. She cleans it and fills it herself, and she puts it out
every morning. She don't never let me touch it."

"Why does she keep it there?"