up to the post-house. But I
don't mind going alone, dears."

"No, no, mamma; I _must_ go with you, to take care of you," said Reggie;
"but Nora needn't."

"Perhaps it would be as well," said the little girl. "I have one or two
buttons to sew on, and I _am_ still rather tired."

And, knowing she was never timid about being left alone, thinking we
should be absent half an hour at most, I agreed.

But the half hour lengthened into an hour, then into an hour and a half,
before the weary mail made its appearance. The road through the forest
must be all but impassable, our old friend told us. But oh, how tired
Reggie and I were of waiting! though all the time never a thought of
uneasiness with regard to _Nora_ crossed my mind. And when the mail did
come, delayed, as the postmaster had suspected, the good result of his
negotiations made us forget all our troubles; for the conductor all but
_promised_ to take us the next morning, in consideration of a very
reasonable extra payment. It was most unlikely he would have any,
certainly not many passengers. We must be there, at the post-house, by
nine o'clock, baggage and all, for he dared not wait a moment, and he
would do his best.

Through the evening dusk, now fast replacing the scattered mist, Reggie
and I, light of heart, stumbled down the rocky path.

"How pleased Nora will be! She will be wondering what has come over us,"
I said as the "Katze" came in view. "But what is that, Reggie, running
up and down in front of the house? Is it a sheep, or a big white dog?
or--or a child? Can it be Nora, and no cloak or hat? and so damp and
chilly as it is? How can she be so foolish?"

And with a vague uneasiness I hurried on.

Yes, it was Nora. There was light enough to see her face. What had
happened to my little girl? She was white--no, not white, ghastly. Her
eyes looked glassy, and yet as if drawn into her head; her whole bright,
fearless bearing was gone. She clutched me convulsively as if she would
never again let me go. Her voice was so hoarse that I could scarcely
distinguish what she said.

"Send Reggie in--he must not hear," were her first words--of rare
unselfishness and presence of mind.

"Reggie," I said, "tell the maid to take candles up to our room, and
take off your wet boots at once."

My children are obedient; he was off instantly.

Then Nora went on, still in a strained, painful whisper--

"Mamma, there has been a _man_ in our room, and----"

"Did tha