“‘Yes, in a minute. Let’s go down stairs and look at all the doors and windows again.’ “The fastening on every door and window was tried anew. We were locked in. The world was locked out. I did not look out again at the fire-flies. “I sat down before the bureau while Elsie stood behind me and brushed and braided my long hair; doing my hair would comfort her if anything could. “But what would comfort me? “My _Daily Light_ I had put in my satchel; I liked to have it open on my bureau; it was bound in soft leather, two volumes in one: I found the date, August XV., in the Evening Hour. “‘Read aloud,’ said Elsie. “My glance caught the large type at the head of the page. My heart beat fast, the tears started, but I cleared my throat and read unconcernedly: ‘I will allure her, and bring her into the wilderness, and speak comfortably unto her.’ “‘Read it again,’ said Elsie, brushing softly. I read it again. Elsie undressed and crept into bed. “‘You didn’t say your prayers,’ I remonstrated. “‘I like to say them in bed,’ she replied. “So did I that night. “I placed the lamp, burning brightly, on the floor in the hall opposite my door, leaving the door wide open, then I lay down, and said my prayers in bed. “Elsie was soon asleep; my prayer ended with the earnest petition, several times repeated: ‘Please let me go to sleep quick and stay asleep all night.’ “Then I watched the light, and thought about home, and fell asleep. “A voice awakened me: Elsie was sitting up in bed:— “‘I’ll do your hair, Marion,’ she said thickly, talking in her sleep. “I pressed her down, and covered her; she did not waken. But I was awake, wide awake, alone in a great wilderness. There was no sound, no sound anywhere, but a stillness like the stillness of death. “Then sh—sh—sh—a hush, a soft pressing against something—a padded shoulder against a door, a soft fist at a window; then the stillness like the stillness of death. I was awake; I did not sleep. “The soft, soft sound came again and again; the softest sound I had ever heard, and then the stillest silence. “Should I get up, bring the lamp in, and lock the door? “But suppose there were no key in the door—it was swung back, I could not see the inside key-hole; if I should get up and find no key, and could not lock the door, I should confess to myself that I was afraid—how could I lie there, with the door shut and not locked, and be afraid? _I was afraid to be afraid._ I would rather lie there, and look with staring eyes at the lamp and the wide stairs, and listen, and listen, with my very breath, and know that I was not afraid.” “Oh, dear!” cried Judith, with a choking in her throat. “Morning came. Oh, that blessed streak of dawn. I arose and slowly pushed the door so that I could see the lock. “_There was no key._” “Oh!” cried Judith, with a sudden, sharp breath, cold to her very finger-tips.