was walking in his
sleep.

[Illustration: "A LITTLE FIGURE ... STOOD OUT CLEAR AGAINST THE DARK
FIRS."]

In a flash she had stolen down the stairs, only stopping to snatch a
warm cloak from the hall as she went. The bar and chain delayed her, for
she dared not strike a match,--her mother's light sleep was too
precious,--still, it seemed only an instant before she was on the lawn,
gazing wildly about her. The child was gone! An instant she stood
undecided; was it possible that the whole had been a vision, a
hallucination, brought on by excitement and fatigue? No! For here were
the little footprints in the snow.

Oh, the little, tender feet, stung by the bitter cold! How was it
possible that the touch of the snow had not waked him? But here was her
clue; in another moment, surely, she should have him in her arms.
Breathless and panting, Hildegarde ran round the corner of the house,
following those little white tracks--and stopped. The footsteps broke
off short. Looking up, bewildered, she uttered a low cry of terror. Hugh
was climbing up the wall. This part of the house was low, a kind of shed
or outhouse, seldom used. It was easy climbing enough, a window-sill
here, a cornice there, and a spout that ran the whole way up to the
shingled roof. Hildegarde had climbed it herself, in pursuit of a
runaway kitten; if the child would only stop at the shed roof she could
easily follow him. But above rose the steep-pitched upper roof! What
should she do if he went on? What should she do? She dared not call, for
now the little figure, steadily climbing upward, stood on the shed roof;
hesitated a moment, turned half towards her,--then turned back, and set
his foot on the short ladder that led to the upper roof. Instantly
Hildegarde's knee was on the first low window-sill. She was reaching up,
on the point of raising herself to her feet, when she started violently,
and nearly lost her balance. A hand was laid on her shoulder; a steady,
restraining hand.

"What upon earth does this mean?" asked Roger Merryweather.

His voice was stern, or Hildegarde fancied it so; she answered like a
child:

"I am going after Hugh!"

"Going after--" began Roger, stupefied. Then following her upward
gesture, he broke off short.

"Go into the house, my child!" he said, quickly, in his own kind tone.
"Go at once; you must not stay out another moment in this thin dress. I
will bring him to you in the house. It will be only a minute now, and he