The rising wind piped softly about the closed window where Mary Broughton was sitting in the starlight, absorbed in her own anxious thoughts, until aroused by something unusual in Dorothy's appearance and manner of moving about. The girl was at the farther side of the unlit room, and Mary asked her what she was doing. A low laugh was the only answer; and upon the question being repeated, Dorothy came to the window, and Mary saw that she was clad in a complete suit of boy's clothes. The unexpected transition was so startling that for a moment she could not speak, but sat looking at Dorothy in amazement. "Oh, Dot," she then exclaimed, "you should take shame to yourself for doing such a thing!" She could see, even in the gloom, the wilful toss of Dorothy's head, whose curls were let down and tied back with a ribbon, thus completing the masculine disguise. "Whatever are you thinking about, to play such pranks at a time like this?" Mary demanded reproachfully. "That is just it, Mary," Dorothy replied. She seemed in no wise abashed, but spoke with perfect seriousness. "I do it because of the time, and of what is going to happen to-night. Father said 't was not safe for us to go abroad, because we wore petticoats. Now here is this old suit Jack outgrew years ago, and I've always kept it to masquerade in; but to-night it will serve me in a more serious matter. I cannot stop in the house; I am too anxious about Jack. I want to see him and the others get ashore in safety; and I've no fear but, dressed in this way, it will be easy for me to do so." "But you must not," Mary protested. "How can you dare to think of such a thing? Suppose some of the men should recognize you,--and they will be keeping a sharp lookout for strangers--what would your father say?" And she began to have thoughts of seeing him, and so frustrating this wild scheme. "I tell you I must go, and will go, Mary; so do not try to prevent me. I know every inch of ground hereabouts, and can easily keep out of the way, even should any one try to hinder me. Why will you not go with me?" Dorothy spoke quietly, but very earnestly; and as she finished, she placed both her hands on Mary's shoulders, as though to compel her consent. Mary hesitated. There was in her own heart a like desire to that of the younger girl; she, too, wished to get out of doors, and see all that should take place. But she held herself to be more prudent than the impulsive Dorothy, and so for a time she demurred with her inclination. But it was only for a time. Dorothy's impetuous arguments fairly swept her off her balance, as usually happened with any one who was fond of the girl; and Mary agreed to be her companion.