ing
about in the obscurity, began drawing on some of his clothes. He rapped
on the window during the process, to show that the house was astir, and
a minute afterward made his way out of the room and down the stairs, the
boards creaking under his stockinged feet as he went.

Nearly a quarter of an hour passed before he returned. Sister Soulsby,
lying in sleepy quiescence, heard vague sounds of voices at the front
door, and did not feel interested enough to lift her head and listen.
A noise of footsteps on the sidewalk followed, first receding from the
door, then turning toward it, this second time marking the presence of
more than one person. There seemed in this the implication of a guest,
and she shook off the dozing impulses which enveloped her faculties,
and waited to hear more. There came up, after further muttering of male
voices, the undeniable chink of coins striking against one another. Then
more footsteps, the resonant slam of a carriage door out in the street,
the grinding of wheels turning on the frosty road, and the racket of a
vehicle and horses going off at a smart pace into the night. Somebody
had come, then. She yawned at the thought, but remained well awake,
tracing idly in her mind, as various slight sounds rose from the lower
floor, the different things Soulsby was probably doing. Their spare room
was down there, directly underneath, but curiously enough no one seemed
to enter it. The faint murmur of conversation which from time to
time reached her came from the parlor instead. At last she heard her
husband's soft tread coming up the staircase, and still there had been
no hint of employing the guest-chamber. What could he be about? she
wondered.

Brother Soulsby came in, bearing a small lamp in his hand, the reddish
light of which, flaring upward, revealed an unlooked-for display of
amusement on his thin, beardless face. He advanced to the bedside,
shading the glare from her blinking eyes with his palm, and grinned.

"A thousand guesses, old lady," he said, with a dry chuckle, "and you
wouldn't have a ghost of a chance. You might guess till Hades froze over
seven feet thick, and still you wouldn't hit it."

She sat up in turn. "Good gracious, man," she began, "you don't mean--"
Here the cheerful gleam in his small eyes reassured her, and she sighed
relief, then smiled confusedly. "I half thought, just for the minute,"
she explained, "it might be some bounder who'd come East to try and
blackmail m