In my hand was the tightly-wound sheet, used as a rope to confine my dress. I had folded it short and carried it, on the chance of its proving useful. In a moment I was under the palings in deep shadow, with the white sheet thrown around me, falling from my forehead, and draped artistically over the right arm. Stock still I stood against the black boards, and two great coils of long black hair flowed down the winding sheet. The men came up, tired of the chase, and grumbling; and by their voices I knew them for my good friends Jacob and Bob. Suddenly, they espied a tall, white figure, of tremendous aspect. They stopped short, both tongue and foot, and I distinctly heard their teeth chatter. With a slow and spectral motion, I raised my draped white arm, and fetched a low, sepulchral moan. Down fell the lantern, and, with a loud yell, away went the men, as hard as their legs could carry them. Laughing heartily, I refolded my sheet, and taking the short cut across the park to the lodge where old Whitehead lived, arrived, without having met even my old friend "Tulip." The old man, in hot indignation, drew forth his battered musket--for he had once been in the militia--and swore that he would march upon the ---- rogues at once. Instead of that I sent him for the two Hiatts, and the village constable; and soon, without invitation, half the village attended. With my torn dress tucked up by good Mrs. Whitehead, and a hat on my head, newly bought for her clean little grandchild, I set forth again in the moonlight, at the head of a faithful army, to recover my native home. Hiatt easily opened the gate, which had defied my flurried efforts, and we presented ourselves at the main entrance, a force that would frighten a castle. It is needless to say that we carried all before us. The state of siege was rescinded, Mrs. Fletcher and Tilly set free, all the ringleaders turned away neck and crop, and what was far more important, my poor uncle removed, without being conscious of it, to a sweet and wholesome room. The sturdy Gloucestershire yeomen scorned all idea of danger. Tired with all my adventures, before I slept that night--still near my uncle’s bed--two reflections came dreamily over my mind. The first was a piece of vanity. "Ah, Mrs. Daldy, you little know Clara Vaughan!" The second was, "Dear me, how Conrad would be astonished at this! And how strange that his father should thus have saved my uncle’s life! For he must have died, if left in that noisome room." CLARA VAUGHAN BOOK IV. CHAPTER I.