allow the girl
to rest another hour. No sooner had the door closed than Fledra sat up
with clenched fists, her face blanched with terror. She could not
confront the inevitable without help. But not once did it occur to her
that Horace Shellington would be able to protect not only her, but
himself also. The path of her future life stretched from Tarrytown to
Ithaca, straight into Lem's scow!

* * * * *

Through the entire day the girl was enigmatical both to Horace and to
Ann. Weary hours, crowding one upon another, offered her no relief. The
thought of Lon's letter shattered hope and made her desolate. She did
not stop to reason that her relations with Horace demanded that she tell
him of Everett's perfidy. Had not her loved ones been threatened with
death, if she disclosed having received the letters? She spent most of
the day with Floyd, saying but little.

In the evening Fledra waited wide-eyed and sleepless until the household
was quiet, and while she waited she pondered dully upon a plan to
escape. Toward night two faint hopes had taken possession of her:
Everett Brimbecomb could help her; Pappy Lon might. Before leaving Floyd
and severing her connections with Horace, she would appeal to the
squatter and his lawyer. She opened the window and looked out. It was
but a short drop to the path at the side of the house.

At half-past ten Fledra slipped into her coat and set a soft, light cap
upon her black curls. In another minute she had reached the road and had
turned toward Brimbecomb's. To escape any eyes in the house she had just
left, she scurried to the graveyard. For an instant only did she halt,
and, somber-eyed, glance over the graves. She could easily mark the spot
where she had lain so long with Floyd, and tears welled into her eyes as
she thought of him. How many things had happened since then! In hasty
review came week after week of the time she had spent with Horace and
Ann. How she loved them both! Turning, she scanned the gloomy Brimbecomb
house. In the servants' quarters at the top several lights burned, while
on the drawing-room floor a gas-jet shot forth its beams into Sleepy
Hollow. If Mr. Brimbecomb were at home, then he must be in that room.
Fledra crouched under the window.

"Mr. Brimbecomb! Mr. Brimbecomb!" she called.

Silence, as dense as that in God's Acre near her, reigned in the house.
She called again, a little louder. Suddenly she heard a rapid step up