HOME AGAIN The two dark figures, giving a glance through the rain in either direction, stole down beneath the stately marble steps of No. 13 Washington Square, and Matilda unlocked the servants' door. They slipped inside; the door was cautiously relocked. Breathless, they stood listening. A vast, noble silence pervaded the great house. They flung their arms about each other, and thus embraced tottered against the wall; and Mrs. De Peyster relaxed in an unspeakable relief. [Illustration: MATILDA UNLOCKED THE SERVANTS' DOOR] Home again! Her own home! Odorless of pot-roasts and frying batter-cakes. The phrase was rather common and sentimental--but, in truth, this was "home, sweet home." And free of that unthinkable Mr. Pyecroft! While Mrs. De Peyster leaned there in the blackness, gathering strength, her mind mounted in sweet expectancy to her suite. Only a few minutes of soft treading of stairways--certainly they could avoid arousing Jack--and she would be locked in her comfortable rooms. A cautious bath! Clean clothes! Her own bed! All of the luxuries she had been so long denied! Cautiously they crept through the basement hallway; cautiously crept up the butler's stairs and turned off through the door into the great hall of the first floor; cautiously they crept up to the drawing-room floor and trod ever so softly over woven treasures of the Orient, through the spacious ducal gloom. One more flight, then peace, security. With unbreathing care, Mrs. De Peyster set foot upon the first step of her journey's end. And then, suddenly, the servants' bell burst into ringing. And there was a terrific hammering against the servants' door and also against the door in the boarding. "Matilda--what's that?" breathed Mrs. De Peyster. "M--maybe the police saw us come in," breathed Matilda. They did not pause for discussion. Discarding caution, they plunged frantically and noisily up the stairs; until from out of the overhead blackness descended a voice:-- "Stop! Or I'll shoot!" It was Jack's voice. They stopped. "Who are you?" the voice demanded. They clung to each other, wordless. "Who are you?" repeated Jack. Their voices were still palsied. They heard his feet begin determinedly to descend. Mrs. De Peyster loosed her grip on Matilda's arm and vanished noiselessly downward. "Speak up there," commanded Jack, "or I'll fire on the chance of getting you in the dark." "It's only me, Mr. Jack," trembled Matilda. "What, Matilda!" cried Jack; and from above, like an echo transposed an octave higher, sounded another, "What, Matilda!" "Yes, Mr. Jack. Yes, ma'a--yes, Mary." "But where the devil have you been?" exclaimed Jack, coming to her side. Mary had also hurried down to her. "Matilda, the way you ran away from us!" "I got a--er--sudden message. There was no time--"