dible, gained a little strength. It was like
the endurance of disaster which is sometimes more feasible than the
contemplation of it. She thought at once what to do. In the event of
her father having been delayed by some unforeseen business he would
surely telegraph. She at once crossed the slope from the station and
went to Andrew Drake's drug-store, where the telegraph-office was.
She asked if a telegram had come for her, if one had been sent to the
house. When the boy in charge answered no, she felt as if she had
received a stunning blow. She had then no doubt whatever that
something had happened to her father, some accident. The boy, who was
young and pleasant-faced, watched her with a vague sympathy. In a
moment she recovered herself. He might have sent a telegram which had
not arrived. It might come any moment. The boy directly had the same
thought. "The minute the telegram comes I'll get it up to you," he
said, earnestly. "I expect Mr. Drake back every minute, and I can
leave."

"Thank you," said Charlotte.

It was an hour and a half before the next train. She went out of the
store and walked miserably along the street to her deserted home.

Chapter XXXVIII

There is, to a human being of Charlotte Carroll's type, something
unutterably terrifying about entering, especially at nightfall, an
entirely empty house. The worst of it is it does not seem to be
empty. In reality, the emptiness of it is the last thing which is
comprehended. It is full to overflowing with terrors, with spiritual
entities which are much more palpable, when one is in a certain mood,
than actual physical presences. Charlotte approaching the house, saw,
first, glimmers of light on the windows, which were merely
reflections ostensibly from the electric light in the street, not so
ostensibly from other lights.

"Oh, there is some one in there," Charlotte thought to herself, and
again that horrible, pulsing, vibrating motion of her heart overcame
her. "Who is there?" she asked herself. She remembered that terrible
tramp whom she had seen asleep in the woods that day. He might have
been riding on some freight-train which had stopped at Banbridge, and
stolen across and entered the vacant house. She stood still, staring
at the cold glimmers on the windows. Then gradually she became
convinced that they were merely reflections which she saw. Aside from
her imagination, Charlotte was not entirely devoid of a certain
bravery, or, rather, of a