Inside, the window was open, a dull fire still burned in the hearth, but she noted that the sandwiches and wine remained as she had left them, untouched. Evidently, she thought, the man had not had time to eat before he was forced to leave. She crossed the room, intending to shut the window but, ere she reached it, her eyes fell upon a dark heap on the floor beside her bed. She halted, looking down with a sudden fear in her heart and then breathed a sigh of relief. “He took a disguise and left his clothes here,” she half murmured to herself. But, when she stooped down to examine the meager bundle more closely, she saw that there was a man still in the shabby uniform, a man so thin and wasted as to be little more than a skeleton. She thought at first that he was dead, but, snatching her hand-glass, she held it in front of his parched lips and found it clouded. The man was alive, how long he could remain so she dared not think. In the half light from the fire, to her inexperienced eyes, he looked as if each succeeding minute might easily be his last. But what was she to do now? Whom could she trust? Certainly none of the servants, who would probably scream in terror and alarm the entire household at the first sight of the poor, huddled body. Her mind was busy with this problem, but instinctively she had taken the glass of wine and was trying to force a little of it through the pale lips, when there came a knock at her door. Instantly she was on her feet, her nerves taut; but by no means ready to give up without a fight. So far her part had been passive, now that the man could no longer help himself she meant to try her utmost to save him. That it was Hal or Val Tracy coming on a search of the house, she had no doubt. However they would not enter so long as she was there, and she vowed to herself that she would remain in the room till Doomsday rather than let either of them in. “Who is it?” she asked, and expected to hear the deep voice of one of the men, but greatly to her consternation the door was opened and in walked Miss Imogene. “It is I, honey,” said the dainty little lady, closing the door behind her and advancing into the room. “What are you doing here in the dark?” “I just came up for a moment,” Dorothea replied, without a tremor in her voice. Here was a more dangerous situation even than she had anticipated and her wits were working fast to meet it. “I will go down with you at once.” She made a motion as if to start for the door, hoping that Miss Ivory would take the hint and go out too; but the latter evidently had no such intention for she stood before the fireplace, placing a dainty foot upon the fender to warm it before the fitful blaze. “Do put another log on the fire, child,” she requested. “My toes are icy and—my dear, I want a little chat with you. I don’t think you can be enjoying your party—hiding alone up here.” “Oh, but really I have been—indeed I have been,” Dorothea protested. “I just came up—”