open to
anything in life, save a long series of disappointments, while she
remained with her mother. Yet Margaret Sinton had advised her to go home
and try once more. Margaret had seemed so sure there would be a change
for the better, that Elnora had consented, although she had no hope
herself. So strong is the bond of blood, she could not make up her mind
to seek a home elsewhere, even after the day that had passed. Unable to
sleep she arose at last, and the room being warm, she sat on the floor
close the window. The lights in the swamp caught her eye. She was very
uneasy, for quite a hundred of her best moths were in the case. However,
there was no money, and no one ever had touched a book or any of her
apparatus. Watching the lights set her thinking, and before she realized
it, she was in a panic of fear.

She hurried down the stairway softly calling her mother. There was no
answer. She lightly stepped across the sitting-room and looked in at the
open door. There was no one, and the bed had not been used. Her first
thought was that her mother had gone to the pool; and the Limberlost was
alive with signals. Pity and fear mingled in the heart of the girl. She
opened the kitchen door, crossed the garden and ran back to the swamp.
As she neared it she listened, but she could hear only the usual voices
of night.

"Mother!" she called softly. Then louder, "Mother!"

There was not a sound. Chilled with fright she hurried back to the
cabin. She did not know what to do. She understood what the lights in
the Limberlost meant. Where was her mother? She was afraid to enter,
while she was growing very cold and still more fearful about remaining
outside. At last she went to her mother's room, picked up the gun,
carried it into the kitchen, and crowding in a little corner behind the
stove, she waited in trembling anxiety. The time was dreadfully long
before she heard her mother's voice. Then she decided some one had been
ill and sent for her, so she took courage, and stepping swiftly across
the kitchen she unbarred the door and drew back from sight beside the
table.

Mrs. Comstock entered dragging her heavy feet. Her dress skirt was gone,
her petticoat wet and drabbled, and the waist of her dress was almost
torn from her body. Her hair hung in damp strings; her eyes were red
with crying. In one hand she held the lantern, and in the other stiffly
extended before her, on a wad of calico reposed a magnificent pair of
Yellow Emper