Mrs. Temple crawled cautiously through the high weeds and bushes to a place where she could see them again and more distinctly, for the light was on in the big entrance hall, and struck through the two narrow windows—one at each side of the door—across the front portico. This with its columns reflected enough light to enable her to make out what they were doing. They had put a ladder (which must have been what they were carrying) against the vine-covered wall at one side of the front window of the room on the left, up which one of them had climbed, and were working at something which seemed to be under the thick growth of creeper, carefully disentangling the vines, unwinding, drawing out, and securing them at one side, never cutting or breaking. The leaves in particular they appeared to be handling with the utmost care, and it wasn’t until they had slowly and with all possible precaution pulled one of the window shutters out of the tangled mass that had covered it as it stood opened back against the wall, that she suddenly realized what it all meant. They were closing the blinds! Closing them! Such a thing hadn’t been done in all the years she’d been there! It could mean but one thing—something was going to happen in the house that no one must see! She was horrified, aghast, unable to move. It took the men a long time to free both shutters and tie the vines back so they’d be supported. But finally she saw they were coming down and gathering up some cords and tools from the ground. It would be the side windows next—the blinds there were open and overgrown in the same way as the front one—and she’d be directly in their path as they came around the corner. So she crawled out from among the bushes and hobbled away a little distance in the darkness. Her rheumatism was bad from her being out on the damp ground so much. But the men didn’t stop at the side windows. Instead they went back to the rear of the house, passing along the flagged path by which they came, carrying the ladder and what tools they’d brought with them. Shivering with dread, Mrs. Temple stood trying to think how she could get word to Mr. Haworth—how warn him—put him on his guard? Though after his telling her that she must not, she didn’t dare to go in, yet she _would_ dare if there was no other way. Before the poor old soul could decide what to do she heard the front door of the house close heavily and saw someone coming down the steps. As he turned at the bottom, the illumination from the hall windows fell upon him, and she saw it was Haworth. At once she determined to speak to him—to warn him of his danger—to beg him to let her come into the house again so she could see that no harm came to him. She said to herself that if he’d do that, she’d sleep in front of his door at night—indeed, never let him out of her sight if she could help it.