But Miss Weeks' trim and precise figure blocked the doorway, and
she did not move.

"Hark!" she murmured in quick admonishment; "what is that other
sound? Something is happening--something dreadful. What is it? It
does not seem to be near here yet, but it is coming--coming."

Frightened in spite of themselves, both by her manner and tone,
they drew their gaze from the rigid figure in the chair, and, with
bated breaths and rapidly paling cheeks, listened to the distant
murmur on the far-off road, plainly to be heard pulsing through
the nearer sounds of rushing feet and chattering voices in the
rooms about.

What was it? They could not guess, and it was with unbounded
relief they pressed forward to greet the shadowy form of a young
girl hurrying towards them from the rear, with news in her face.
She spoke quickly and before Miss Weeks could frame her question.

"The woman is gone. Harry Doane saw her sliding out behind us just
after we came in. She was hiding in some of the corners here, and
slipped out by the kitchen-way when we were not looking. He has
gone to see--"

But interesting as this was, the wonder of the now rapidly
increasing hubbub was more so. A mob was at the gates! Men, women
and children shouting, panting and making loud calls.

Breathlessly Miss Weeks cut the girl's story short; breathlessly