An undefined sense of fear took possession of her, and she stood hesitating in the hall, almost determined to go no farther. Had it been a dull, cloudy day, or nearing dusk, she would have scurried out, but in the bright, cheerful sunlight it seemed absurd to feel afraid. Still, it was with a loudly beating heart that she stepped into a large room opening off the hall. It was evidently the family living-room, and the familiar things about reassured her somewhat. Several books which she looked into bore Lena’s name on the fly-leaf, and a light shawl, which she recognized as Mrs. Carey’s, was flung carelessly over a chair-back. Somehow these homelike touches comforted Betty, and she ventured further explorations. The dining-room was in order, and Betty could not tell whether any one had eaten recently or not. But in the kitchen pantry she noted remnants of breakfasts, which were fresh enough to denote having been placed there that morning. The ice-box showed fresh milk and various cold viands, and when Betty discovered that the kitchen clock was ticking, she concluded that all was well. “For it’s one of those little tin clocks,” she observed, “that have to be wound every day. So the Careys have just stepped out since breakfast, but why they took all the servants with them, I don’t know. Family picnic, I suppose, with no thought of their arriving guest!” Wandering back to the front rooms, Betty started to go up-stairs, and then stopped. Suppose something awful had happened! She paused with her foot on the lowest stair. “Lena!” she called again, “Lena!” But there was no answer, and, with a sudden impulse of bravery, Betty ran up-stairs and peeped into the first bedroom she came to. It was, without doubt, Lena’s own room. She recognised her kimono flung on the bed, and her little Japanese slippers, which had evidently been kicked off across the room. Surely Lena had dressed in a hurry. Cheered by these visible signs of her friend’s recent presence here, Betty went on through the other rooms. She found nothing unusual, merely the sleeping-rooms of the Carey family, fairly tidy, but by no means in spick-and-span order. In fact, they looked as if the whole family had gone away in haste. “To meet me at the station, I suppose,” cogitated Betty. “Well, I’m here, and I can’t help it, so I may as well make myself at home. I think I’ll bring my suitcase up, and select a room, and put on a cooler dress.” She went down-stairs more blithely than she had come up. It was all very mysterious, to be sure, but there had been no tragedy, and the Careys must come back soon, wherever they might have gone. She paused again in the living-room, and sitting down at the open piano, she sang a few lively little songs. Then, feeling quite merry over her strange experience, she went out to the front porch for her suitcase.