a large head set on a short neck, and a trailing, old-fashioned dress
of black.

Now, with a man holding her hands and calling her an angel--a "dear,
brave angel!"--it looked to the girl a beautiful room. There was glamour
upon it, and upon the rest of the world. Surely life could never seem
commonplace again!

"Ssh!" Annesley whispered. "We mustn't wake Mrs. Ellsworth, or she'll run
to the front door in her dressing gown and call 'Police!' She's old, but
her ears are sharp as a cat's. She can almost hear one _thinking_. But
I'm glad she can't quite. How frightful if she could!"

"Nothing about her need be frightful to you any more," said the man. "You
have saved me. Soon it will be my turn to rescue you."

"I haven't saved you yet," the girl reminded him. "_They_ are sure to be
waiting to see whether you come out. But I've thought of one more thing
to make them believe that you live here. I can steal softly upstairs to
the front room on the second floor, above the drawing room--the one we
call 'Mr. Smith's'--to turn on the lights, and then those hateful
creatures will think----". She hesitated, and the colour sprang to her
cheeks.

"That Mr. and Mrs. Nelson Smith have gone to their room," the man
finished her sentence. His eyes beamed love and gratitude, a glorious
reward. "You're wonderful! You forget nothing that can help. Do you know,
your trust, your faith in me, in spite of appearances, are the best
things that have come into my life? You call those fellows 'hateful
creatures,' because they're my enemies. Yet, for all you know, _they_