ressed and nervous, and finally declared she would go to bed.

But Leslie, far from being nervous, was wildly excited and exhilarated by
the conflict of the elements. When her aunt had finally retired, she
hurried on a big mackinaw and cap and slipped out to the veranda to enjoy
it better. Rags, whimpering, followed her. There was not much to see, for
the night was pitch black, but she enjoyed the feel of the wind and rain
in her face and the little occasional dashes of sand. Wet through at
last, but happy, she crept noiselessly indoors and went to her own room
on the opposite side of the big living-room from her aunt's.

"I'm glad Aunt Marcia is on the other side," she thought. "It's quieter
there on the south and west. I get the full force of things here. It
would only worry her, but I like it. How lonesome Curlew's Nest seems on
a wild night like this!" She switched off her electric light, raised her
shade, and looked over at the empty bungalow. Rags, who always slept in
her room, jumped up on the window-seat beside her. The mingled sand and
rain on the window prevented her from seeing anything clearly, so she
slipped the sash quietly open, and, heedless for a moment of the
drenching inrush, stood gazing out.

Only the wall of the house twenty feet away was visible, with two or
three windows, all tightly shuttered--a deserted and lonely sight. She
was just about to close her window when a curious thing happened. The dog
beside her uttered a rumbling, half-suppressed growl and moved
restlessly.

"What is it, Rags?" she whispered. "Do you see or hear anything? I'm sure
there's no one around." The dog grumbled again, half audibly, and the
hair along his spine lifted a little.

"Hush, Rags! For gracious sake don't let Aunt Marcia hear you, whatever
happens! It would upset her terribly," breathed Leslie, distractedly. The
dog obediently lay quiet, but he continued to tremble with some obscure
excitement, and Leslie remained stock still, gazing at the empty house.

At length, neither seeing nor hearing anything unusual, she was about to
close the window and turn away, when something caused her to lean out,
regardless of the rain, and stare fixedly at a window in the opposite
wall. Was she mistaken? Did her eyes deceive her? Was it possibly some
freak of the darkness or the storm? It had been only for an instant, and
it did not happen again. But in that instant she was almost certain that
she had seen a faint streak of