The air was stifling; and, longing feverishly for the rain, I sat in the deep window-sill and looked out into the scented darkness, for honeysuckle and clematis drooped around my window and the garden below was overgrown with homely, sweet-smelling flowers. Suddenly I started. I was quick at hearing, and I had distinctly caught the sound of a light, firm step passing down the garden path beneath. My first impulse was to call out, but I checked it when I recognised the tall, graceful figure moving swiftly along the gravel walk in the shade of the yew-hedge. It was my mother! I watched her, scarcely believing my eyes. What could she be wanting in the garden at this hour? And while I sat on the window casement, wondering, a cold shiver of alarm chilled me, for I saw a man creep stealthily out from the wood and hurry across the little stretch of meadow towards the garden gate, where she was standing. The moon was shining with a sickly light through a thick halo of mist and I could only just distinguish the figures of my mother and this man, side by side, talking earnestly. I watched them with riveted eyes until I heard a quick step on the floor behind me and a hand was laid upon my mouth, stifling my cry of surprise. "It's only me, Philip, lad," whispered a hoarse, tremulous voice. "I didn't want you to call out--that's all. Hast seen anything of this before?" And he pointed, with shaking finger, towards the window, from which he had drawn me back a little. I looked at him, a great horror stealing over me. His ruddy face was blanched and drawn, as though with pain; and there was a terrible light in his eyes. I was frightened and half inclined to cry. "No," I faltered. "It's only Mr. Francis, isn't it?" "Only Mr. Francis!" I heard my father repeat, with a groan. "Oh, Alice, lass--Alice! How could you?" He staggered blindly towards the door. I rushed after him, piteously calling him back, but he pushed me off roughly and hurried out. I heard him leave the house, but he did not go down the garden. Then, in a few minutes, every one of which seemed to me like an hour, the low voices at the gate ceased and my mother came slowly up the path towards the house. I rushed downstairs and met her in the hall. She seemed half surprised, half angry, to see me. "Philip," she exclaimed, "I thought you were in bed long ago! What are you doing here?" "I am frightened!" I sobbed out. "Father has been in my room watching you at the gate and he talked so strangely. He is very angry and he looks as though he were going to hurt someone." My mother leaned against the wall, every vestige of colour gone from her face, and her hand pressed to her side. She understood better than I did then. "Where is he now?" she asked hysterically. "Quick, Philip--quick! Tell me!" "He is gone," I answered. "He went out by the front door and up the road." A sudden calmness seemed to come to her and she stood for a moment thinking aloud.