"Do you want me?" "Oh, so much! Mother is really ill herself. She has nursed me night and day, and tried to finish that crayon too--it is an order; but she is worn out--poor mother!" Winnie moved about uneasily, thinking of lilacs and roses and syringas and the boat, but after a while she tore a slip from a copy-book and wrote a little note to her grandmother, telling the good old lady where she was. Then she turned to poor pale little Joan, bathed her, smoothed her pillows, and gave her the medicine which was to be taken. Slowly the hours went by; no going to Staten Island this time. The clock ticked away, the jangling bells and whistles quieted down, doors opened and shut, people had their dinners and teas. The street grew quiet, and little pale-faced Joan slept softly and restfully, with one hand in Winnie's. Ten, eleven, twelve o'clock struck. Winnie must have dozed, but now she was wakened by little Joan's arousing. "Oh, Winnie, I am _so_ thirsty!" "Yes, dear; here is some water." "But I _would_ so like to have some milk." "Where is it, Jennie?" "Down-stairs we have a closet under the stoop, and there's an ice-box there. A lump of ice in the milk would be so delicious!" "So it would. Shall I get it?" "Yes, only-- Oh dear! Winnie, you don't like going down in the dark." No, indeed, she didn't; but what was to be done?--waken poor Mrs. Jessup, and undo all the good that had been done? On the other hand rose visions of horror--bats, rats, meeting midnight prowlers, all sorts of indescribable fears without really any cause, the echoes of a frightened childhood, when some foolish nurse had used the rod of fear to control a sensitive nervous little one who could easily have been led by love. "Where is the key, Jennie, and the pitcher?" "The key is just here in this little drawer, and you will find a pitcher down there. But don't go if you are afraid, Winnie. I will try to wait till morning." "Now or never," thought Winnie, and she plunged out into the darkness. The effort gave her courage. Down, down, down she went. The candle flared and flickered; she was sure it would go out, but she had put a match or two in her pocket. She reached the door, unlocked it, poured the milk, and cracked the ice, when with a chill of horror a hoarse laugh broke the midnight stillness. It seemed close beside her, above her, around her. For an instant she stood as if paralyzed; then she would have sped like the wind, but a voice said, "Can't you let me in?" Winnie looked up; there was a little grating over the heavy outer door. A face, young, handsome, but shadowed with the marks of ill-doing, was watching her curiously. Winnie shook her head. "Who are you, anyhow, and what are you doing in my mother's closet?" Winnie's voice shook. "I am a friend of Jennie's. She is sick. I am taking care of her. Do you live here?"