Charlotte sat quite rigid. The slender figure began moving towards
her stealthily, keeping close to the house, advancing with frequent
pauses like a wary bird. When she got close to Charlotte she reached
down and touched her shoulder timidly. "Oh, Charlotte, don't you feel
bad? He'd ought to know your father by this time; he'll get over it
and come back," she whispered.

"I don't want him to come back," Charlotte whispered fiercely in
return.

Sylvia stared at her helplessly. Charlotte's face looked strange and
hard in the moonlight. "Your mother's dreadful worried," she
whispered again, presently. "She thinks you'll catch cold. I come out
of the front door on purpose so you can go in that way. Your father's
asleep in his chair. He told your mother not to unbolt this door
to-night, and she didn't darse to. But we went past him real still to
the front one, an' you can slip in there and get up to your chamber
without his seeing you. Oh, Charlotte, do come!"

Charlotte arose, and she and Sylvia went around to the front door.
Sylvia crept close to the house as before, but Charlotte walked
boldly along in the moonlight. "Charlotte, I'm dreadful afraid he'll
see you," Sylvia pleaded, but Charlotte would not change her course.

Just as they reached the front door it was slammed with a quick puff
of wind in their faces. They heard Mrs. Barnard's voice calling
piteously. "Oh, father, do let her in!" it implored.

"Don't you worry, mother," Charlotte called out. "I'll go home with
Aunt Sylvia."