His heart stood still for a second. Distinctly he heard the soft, suppressed cry of a woman--and then the unmistakable sound of scurrying fabrics. The sounds came from some remote corner of the room--or possibly from a room hard by--and were indicative of great alarm on the part of an unseen person. Bosworth was not a slow thinker. He took the safest way. Without hesitation he called out: "It's all right! I am Bosworth Van Pycke!" There was dead silence for the next sixty seconds. The French clock ticked them off. He involuntarily counted twenty-five or thirty before a small, hushed voice responded,--from the library, he was sure,--the voice of a woman. "What did you say?" "I am Mr. Van Pycke. Don't be alarmed. It's--it's all a mistake. I--" "Mr. Van Pycke? Why--why--" He recognized the voice. "Is that you, Miss Downing?" "Are you--are you sure that you are Mr. Van Pycke? I have my finger on the call button. Wha--what are you doing here?" "I am trying to get out," he said, lowering his voice. "Don't you recognize my voice?" "Ye--yes, I think I do." "Where are you?" "Why didn't you go out before?" asked the voice, a bit querulously he thought. "I am not a sleep walker," he said. Realizing that it was a poor time to jest, he hastily supplemented: "I went to sleep--waiting. Where are you? What time is it? Is every one in bed?" The curtains at the opposite end of the room parted very slowly. First, a strong, red glow appeared beyond, mellow and somewhat fitful; then the shadowy figure of the girl was silhouetted against the red, framed on either side by shivering drapery. She was still wearing the white satin evening gown. He took hope. "It isn't so late, after all," he cried, starting toward her. "I hope you will go away at once, Mr. Van Pycke," she said quickly. "It is half-past one--and every one _is_ in bed. I don't understand why you are still here." "I'll tell you all about it," he said, not very confidently. "Don't turn me out until I've got warm, please. I give you my word, I'm paralyzed with the cold." "Really, Mr. Van Pycke, I--I can't have you here--I mean, it is so terribly late. I--I--" "Were you horribly frightened?" he asked, somewhat irrelevantly. He had come up to her by this time, and, peering beyond, saw a splendid fire in the library grate. There were no lights in the room. A big chair stood before the fender, invitingly. His teeth were chattering. "I was almost petrified," she said rather breathlessly. "If you had not called out, I--I think my heart would have refused to beat again. Oh, I am _so_ glad it is you and not a burglar!" "May I come in and get warm?" he pleaded. She saw that he was shivering. With a quick glance over her shoulder she stood aside and allowed him to pass.