time before I could persuade her she had not been attacked from
behind by a burglar, and when she found the mirror smashed on the
floor she wasn't much better.

"There's going to be a death!" she wailed. "Oh, Miss Rachel,
there's going to be a death!"

"There will be," I said grimly, "if you don't keep quiet, Liddy
Allen."

And so we sat there until morning, wondering if the candle would
last until dawn, and arranging what trains we could take back to
town. If we had only stuck to that decision and gone back before
it was too late!

The sun came finally, and from my window I watched the trees
along the drive take shadowy form, gradually lose their ghostlike
appearance, become gray and then green. The Greenwood Club
showed itself a dab of white against the hill across the valley,
and an early robin or two hopped around in the dew. Not until
the milk-boy and the sun came, about the same time, did I dare to
open the door into the hall and look around. Everything was as
we had left it. Trunks were heaped here and there, ready for the
trunk-room, and through an end window of stained glass came a
streak of red and yellow daylight that was eminently cheerful.
The milk-boy was pounding somewhere below, and the day had begun.

Thomas Johnson came ambling up the drive about half-past six, and
we could hear him clattering around on the lower floor, opening
shutters. I had to take Liddy to her room up-stairs,