dreaming that one is dreaming. And then, suddenly, she looked at
her watch, and the straight little shoulders squared resolutely back.
The hallucination, if she chose to call it that, was not yet over!
It was twenty minutes of one, and there was still Skarbolov's - and
her promise.

She quickened her pace. She did not like this promise that she had
made; but, on the other hand, she had not made it either lightly or
impulsively. She had no regrets on that score. She would make it
again under the same conditions. How could she have done otherwise?
It would have been to stand aside and permit a crime to be committed
which she was assured was easily within her power to prevent. What
excuse could she have had for that? Fear wasn't an excuse. She
did not like the thought of entering the back door of a store in
the middle of the night like a thief, and, like a thief, taking away
that hidden money. She knew she was going to be afraid, horribly
afraid - it frightened her now - but she could not let that fear
make a moral coward of her.

Her hands clenched at her sides. She would not allow herself to
dwell upon that phase of it! She was going to Skarbolov's, and
that was all there was to it. The only thing she really had to
fear was that she should lose even a single unnecessary moment in
getting there. Halfpast one, Gypsy Nan had said. That should give
her ample time; but the quicker she went, the wider the, margin of
safety.

Her thoughts reverted to Gypsy Nan. What had the woman meant
by her last few wandering words? They had nothing to do with
Skarbolov's, that was certain; but the words came back now