the casa, and the long afternoon shadows of the building were in their
favor. They pressed forward eagerly with the sounds of Jim Hooker's sham
encounter still in their ears, mingled with answering shouts of defiance
from strange voices within the building towards the front.

They rapidly skirted the wall, even passing boldly before the back
gateway, which seemed empty and deserted, and the next moment stood
beside the narrow window of the boudoir. Clarence's surmises were
correct; the iron grating was not only loose, but yielded to a vigorous
wrench, the vine itself acting as a lever to pull out the rusty bars.
The young man held out his hand, but Mrs. Peyton, with the sudden
agility of a young girl, leaped into the window, followed by Mary and
Susy. The inner casement yielded to her touch; the next moment they
were within the room. Then Mrs. Peyton's flushed and triumphant face
reappeared at the window.

"It's all right; the men are all in the courtyard, or in the front of
the house. The boudoir door is strong, and we can bolt them out."

"It won't be necessary," said Clarence quietly; "you will not be
disturbed."

"But are you not coming in?" she asked timidly, holding the window open.

Clarence looked at her with his first faint smile since Peyton's death.

"Of course I am, but not in THAT way. I am going in by THE FRONT GATE."

She would have detained him, but, with a quick wave of his hand, he left
her, and ran swiftly around the wall of the casa toward the front. The