Andy, who was as good as a watch-dog, was awake by this time, and with

his window open was looking down at the supposed burglar, while his hand

felt for some missile to hurl at the trespasser's head. With a start,

Mr. Markham awoke, and, springing up, listened till the voice said

again, "Mother, mother, it's I; let me in!"

The Japan candlestick Andy had secured was dropped in a trice, and

adjusting his trousers as he descended the stairs, he reached the door

simultaneously with his mother, and pulling Richard into the hall, asked

why he was there, and what had happened. Richard did not know for

certain that anything had happened. "Ethie was most probably with Mrs.

Amsden. She would be home to-morrow," and Andy felt how his brother

leaned against him and his hand pressed upon his shoulders as he went to

the stove, and crouched down before it just as he had done in Camden.

The candle was lighted, and its dim light fell upon that strange group

gathered there at midnight, and looking into each other's faces with a

wistful questioning as to what it all portended.

"It is very cold; make more fire," Richard said, shivering, as the sleet

came driving against the window; and in an instant all the morning

kindlings were thrust into the stove, which roared and crackled, and

hissed, and diffused a sense of warmth and comfort through the

shadowy room.

"What is it, Richard? What makes you so white and queer?" his mother

asked, trying to pull on her stockings, and in her trepidation jamming

her toes into the heel, and drawing her shoe over the bungle thus made

at the bottom of her foot.

"Ethie was not there, and has not been since the night I left. She sold

her piano, and took the money, and her trunk, and her clothes, and went

to visit Mrs. Amsden."

This was Richard's explanation, which Andy thought a mighty funny reason

for his brother's coming at midnight, and frightening them so terribly.

But his mother saw things differently. She knew there was something

underlying all this--something which would require all her skill and

energy to meet--and her face was almost as white as Richard's as she

asked, "Why do you think she has gone to Mrs. Amsden's?"

"You told me so, didn't you?" and Richard looked up at her in a

bewildered, helpless way, which showed that all he knew upon the Amsden

question was what she had said herself, and that was hardly enough to

warrant a conclusion of any kind.




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