armencita's hands clasped tightly,
and in her voice was eager trembling. "I'm so excited I can't breathe
good! It's like being in a book. Go in the room over there quick, Mr.
Van. Come in!"

With inward as well as outward rigidity Van Landing waited. To the
movements of Carmencita's hand waving him away he paid no attention.
In thick, heavy throbs his heart sent the blood to his face, then it
receded, and for a moment the room was dark and he saw nothing. To the
"come in" of Carmencita the door opened, and he looked in its
direction. Noodles was alone.

"Where is she?" Carmencita's voice was high and shrill in excitement
and dismay. "I told you to wait for her! You know I told you to wait
for her!"

Cap in hand, Noodles looked first at Van Landing and then at the
child. "Warn't no her to wait for," he said, presently. "She ain't
there, and she didn't go to the class to-night. Miss James went for
her. Some of her kin-folks is in town staying with some their
kin-folks, and she is spending the night with 'em." The now soiled and
crumpled note was held toward Carmencita. "She won't be back till day
after to-morrow, what's Christmas eve, though she might come back
to-morrow night, Fetch-It said. Warn't nobody there but
Fetch-It--leastways warn't nobody else I seen."

Van Landing looked at Carmencita, then turned sharply and went over
toward the window. A choking, stifling sensation made breathing
difficult, and, the tension of the past few hours relaxed, he felt as
one on the edge of a precipice from which at any moment he might
topple over. It was too cold to open the window, but he must have air.
Going to the couch, he took up his hat and coat, then came back and
held out his hand.

"Give him this"--he nodded at Noodles, "and tell your father good
night. And thank you, Carmencita, thank you for letting me come.
To-morrow--" The room was getting black. "I will see you to-morrow."

A moment later he was out of the room and down the steps and on the
street, and in the darkness he walked as one who feels something in
his way he cannot see; and then he laughed, and the laugh was hard and
bitter, and in it was a sound that was not good to hear.

The cold air stung his face, made breathing better, and after a while
he looked up. For many blocks he had walked unheedingly, but, hearing
a church-bell strike the hour, he took out his watch and glanced at
it. To go home was impossible. Turning into a side-street, he walked
r