rd a noise upstairs, and thinking perhaps you had left one of your
windows down at the top and the curtain was flapping, I went right up,
and the minute I stepped into the room I had the feeling that some one
was there."

"Didn't you carry up a light?"

"No. The lamp was burning at the end of the upper hall, and so I never
thought of needing more. Well, as I moved over toward the window, still
feeling that strange, unaccountable knowledge of some one there, a man
stepped out from behind your desk, walked right up to me and held out
those letters in one hand, while with the other he threw the light from
a small bull's-eye or burglar's lantern upon them."

Philip listened in amazement.

"Sarah, you must have dreamed all that! It isn't likely that any man
would do such a thing!"

"Philip, I did not dream. I was terribly wide-awake, and so scared that
I couldn't even scream. My tongue seemed to be entirely useless. But I
felt compelled to read what was written, and the man held the papers
there until the words seemed to burn my eyes. He then walked over to the
desk, and with one blow drove the knife down into the wood, and then I
fainted away, and that is all I can remember."

"And what became of the man?" asked Philip, still inclined to think
that his wife had in some way fallen asleep and dreamed at least a part
of this strange scene, perhaps before she went up to the study and
discovered the letters.

"I don't know; maybe he is in the house yet. Philip, I am almost dead for
fear--not for myself, but for your life."

"I never had any fear of anonymous letters or of threats," replied
Philip, contemptuously eyeing the knife, which was still sticking in
the desk. "Evidently the saloon men think I am a child to be frightened
with these bugaboos, which have figured in every sensational story since
the time of Captain Kidd."

"Then you think this is the work of the saloon men?"

"Who else can it be? We have no other enemies of this sort in Milton."

"But they will kill you! Oh, Philip, I cannot bear the thought of living
here in this way. Let us leave this dreadful place!"

"Little woman," said Philip, while he bravely drove away any slight
anxiety he may have had for himself, "don't you think it would be
cowardly to run away so soon?"

"Wouldn't it be better to run away so soon than to be killed? Is there
any bravery in staying in a place where you are likely to be murdered by
some coward?"

"I don't think I