It was almost three when the house settled down--nobody had any
night clothes, although finally, through Dallas, who gave them to
Anne, who gave them to the rest, we got some things of
Jimmy's--and I was still dressed. The house was perfectly quiet,
and, after listening carefully, I went slowly down the stairs.
There was a light in the hall, and another back in the dining
room, and I got along without any trouble. But the pantry, where
the stairs led down, was dark, and the wretched swinging door
would not stay open.

I caught my skirt in the door as I went through, and I had to
stop to loosen it. And in that awful minute I heard some one
breathing just beside me. I had stooped to my gown, and I turned
my head without straightening--I couldn't have raised myself to
an erect posture, for my knees were giving way under me--and just
at my feet lay the still glowing end of a match!

I had to swallow twice before I could speak. Then I said sharply:

"Who's there?"

The man was so close it is a wonder I had not walked into him;
his voice was right at my ear.

"I am sorry I startled you," he said quietly. "I was afraid to
speak suddenly, or move, for fear I would do--what I have done."

It was Mr. Harbison.