Jenny moved swiftly from the room, and returned with his nightly glass
and jug of water. There could be nothing else that he would want during
the night. It was all he ever had, and he would sleep so until morning.
She approached the bed upon tiptoe.

"Pa," she whispered. "Are you awake?" He stirred, and looked out from
the bedclothes, and she was fain to bend over him and kiss the tumbled
hair. "Pa, dear ... I want to go out. I've got to go out. Will you be
all right if I leave you? Sure? You'll be a good boy, and not move! I
shall be back before Emmy, and you won't be lonely, or frightened--will
you!" She exhorted him. "See, I've _got_ to go out; and if I can't leave
you.... You _are_ awake, Pa?"

"Yes," breathed Pa, half asleep. "A good boy. Night, Jenny, my dearie
girl."

She drew back from the bed, deeply breathing, and stole to the door. One
last glance she took, at the room and at the bed, closed the door and
stood irresolute for a moment in the passage. Then she whipped her coat
from the peg and put it on. She took her key and opened the front door.
Everything was black, except that upon the roofs opposite the rising
moon cast a glittering surface of light, and the chimney pots made
slanting broad markings upon the silvered slates. The road was quite
quiet but for the purring of a motor, and she could now, as her eyes
were clearer, observe the outline of a large car drawn to the left of
the door. As the lock clicked behind her and as she went forward the
side lights of the motor blazed across her vision, blinding her again.

"Are you there?" she softly called.