Bea cried out between her sobs:

"I can't help it--indeed--I feel as if something dreadful had
happened--and I'm so frightened."

Just then the clock struck ten, such slow solemn strokes, echoing
through the still house, and everybody shivered drearily, and looked
fearfully out into the dark hall; wishing, oh, how fervently, that
mother was home. Bea stopped crying with a great effort, and seemed to
feel that she must do something--but what? She looked at the girls in
anxious inquiry. Kittie and Kat were sitting on the bed, trembling and
frightened. Olive was so dreadfully pale and still; and Beatrice was
nearly at her wits end.

"Perhaps--perhaps--" ventured Kittie, looking around as though her voice
frightened her: "she may be trying to frighten us; you know we were a
little fussy when she came up stairs this afternoon."

Nobody seemed to think so, it might be a rather good joke, but Ernestine
wouldn't keep it up until ten o'clock.

"Let's look in the rooms and then go down stairs, said Olive taking up
the light. Perhaps she has gone to Mrs. Dane's after all, and is staying
late to frighten us, as Kittie says. Come on, and when she comes, don't
pretend to be surprised or a bit scared."

This being Olive's first suggestion, it was received as bearing some
weight, as indeed suggestions and advice always are when they come from
people who do not always have them at tongue's end, ready for all, or
any occasions. A little brighter feeling dawned upon the forlorn group,
as they went to the twin's and Olive's rooms, without finding any trace,
and then returned to the sitting-room. Bea half hoped and expected that
they would find Ernestine sitting by the fire, full of laugh, and ready
to tease them on their fright and search; but she was disappointed, for
the room was dreary and lonely, the light wood fire having died of
neglect; and everything looked unutterably forlorn to their anxious
eyes. In an ominous silence all four sat down on the lounge, closely
huddled together, and tried to talk; but it was a vain attempt. It
seemed impossible to bring any voice low enough so as that it did not
sound like a trumpet in the painful stillness of the house; every one
jumped when any one spoke, so by and by, they were perfectly still,
while the clock ticked so loudly and every moment brought a deeper fear
and trembling anxiety.

Eleven! Twelve!

"Let us go to bed," whispered Olive. Somehow it seemed that whispering
was the on