"I am going on a perilous expedition," continued Leslie, in a bantering tone, but his voice sinking lower, almost without his being aware of the fact, and jerking off his boots meanwhile on the sidewalk. "If I never come back, comfort my bereaved wife and children. If I break my neck, see me comfortably buried, _without_ a coroner's inquest if possible." "What are you going to do?" asked Harding, with a faint premonition, however, of his intention. "I am going to get a peep in at that window," was the reply, "or I am going to break the most precious neck in America in making the attempt. I used to be able to climb, though some years ago. Keep still, here goes!" There seemed to be at the moment no passers in the street, and Harding's anxious gaze around showed no policeman in the vicinity. By the time he had fairly spoken the last words, Leslie had thrown off his broad hat, crossed the street, and commenced climbing the tree. Harding followed and stood under the tree, as if Leslie was going to throw down apples and he must catch them. Leslie was a little awkward, but hugged the bark handsomely, and was soon on a level with the window. Harding saw him distinctly, by the reflected light from the window, clutch his arm around one of the main limbs, and throw his head and body forward so that his face was not more than a foot from the window. He had not looked in more than a moment, when Harding heard him utter a quick, short cry, and the next instant he seemed to be trying to regain his hold of the tree. Then there was a rush, a tumble, and he seemed to be falling. Harding threw himself beneath him, and Leslie half slid and half fell to the pavement, with such violence as to send both sprawling into the middle of the street. Harding was not much hurt; Leslie seemed to be injured, and limped a little as he sprang up. "Are you hurt, Tom? What made you fall?" was the double question that Harding attempted to ask. "My God! can that be possible?" was the inconsequent answer, and his hand went up to his head as if the organs of thought were for the moment disordered. "What do you mean? What did you see, Tom?" was Harding's next double question. Leslie was pulling on his boots. "See? Nothing--every thing! I will tell you all about it when my brains get settled!" was the reply. "I have simply been frightened out of my boots--no, I left my boots down here. But I was frightened out of the tree, and came devilish near to killing myself and _you_. Eh, didn't I?" "Never mind about that! Tell us what you saw?" said Harding, whose bump of curiosity now began to be seriously agitated. "The red woman! witch! devil! What does it all mean?" was the torrent of incoherence which next burst from Leslie, not affording Harding a very close solution of the mystery, but promising at least something.