lat in the snow, slowly recovered the breath exhausted by his efforts.

Lying thus, and stretching out an arm, he could almost touch the nearest
window with his fingers, almost, but not quite. Still lying flat, he
dragged himself a yard farther. His head was now in line with the
window, but the close-drawn shade shut out all but the suggestion of the
inner light. He hesitated a moment, then, very cautiously, tapped on the
frosty pane.

There was no response. He tapped again, and then a third time, twice in
succession and more compellingly. This time he thought he heard a
movement in the room, but he was not sure.

He waited a moment, then softly signaled again. There was no question
now about the movement in the room. He heard it distinctly, heard it
approach the window, heard it cease, then saw the curtain slowly drawn.
The face of Doris looked out, at first vaguely, as if she had fancied
the noise some manifestation of the storm. But in the next instant she
glanced down, saw him, and obviously checked an exclamation. In another
moment she had opened the window, and without straightening up he had
slipped across the sill.

Neither spoke. Laurie was looking about the room, reassuringly empty,
save for those two. He closed the window, drew the shade, and became
conscious that she held his hand and was drawing him urgently toward the
fire. At the same time she answered his unasked question.

"They're all down in the kitchen, I think. Listen!"

She opened the door leading to the hall, and, going out, leaned over the
stair-rail.

"Yes, they're still there," she reported when she came back. "All but
one of the Italians. They're eating now, and after that I _think_
they're planning to leave."

"Where's the hag?"

"Waiting on them."

She spoke detachedly, almost dully. As in the morning, she was not
surprised; but to-night there was in her manner a suggestion of
repressed excitement which it had not held before.

"Have you a heavy coat?" he asked her.

"Yes."

"Get it and put it on, quick. Don't waste any time." He indicated the
buckled house-shoes she still wore. "And put on some real shoes, if you
have them."

Without replying, she disappeared. He followed her into the bedroom in
which, during the hours of his presence that afternoon, the hag had
found uneasy asylum. He indicated a door.

"Where does that lead?"

"Into a bath-room."

"There's a back window over the veranda. What room does that mean?"