For, as her ears grew accustomed to its tone, it seemed to lose some of its remoteness, to become more local and earthly. Presently this sound which the darkness was giving out became the voices of people talking in subdued undertones not far off. Nor was it long before the murmur was broken by a word sharply uttered and clearly heard by her--a gruff and unmistakable oath. She started with fright at this, it sounded so near. She was certain now that there were others in the house with her. She had gone to bed alone. Waking up in the dead of the small hours to find men or ghosts with her, her heart beat horribly. But ghosts do not swear--at least such was Winifred's ideal of the spirit world. And she was brave. Nerving herself for the ordeal, she found the courage to steal out of bed and make her way out of the room into a passage, and she had not stood there listening two minutes when she was able to be certain that the murmur was going on in a back room. How earnest that talk was--how low in pitch! It could hardly be burglars there, for burglars do not enter a house in order to lay their heads together in long conferences. It could not be ghosts, for a light came out under the rim of the door. After a time Winifred stole forward, tapped on a panel, and her heart jumped into her mouth as she lifted her voice, saying: "Aunty, is it you?" There was silence at this, as though they had been ghosts, indeed, and had taken to flight at the breath of the living. "Speak! Who is it?" cried Winifred with a fearful shrillness now. A chair grated on the floor inside, hurried steps were heard, a key turned, the door opened a very little, and Winifred saw the gaunt face of Rachel Craik looking dourly at her, for she had frightened this masterful woman very thoroughly. "Oh, aunt, it _is_ you!" gasped Winifred with a flutter of relief. "You are to go to bed, Winnie," said Rachel. "It is you! They have let you out, then?" "Yes." "Tell me what happened; let me come in--" "Go back to bed; there's a good girl. I'll tell you everything in the morning." "Oh, but I am glad! I was so lonely and frightened! Aunt, what was it all about?" "About nothing; as far as I can discover," said Rachel Craik--"a mere mare's-nest found by a set of stupid police. Some man--a Mr. Ronald Tower--was supposed to have been murdered, and I was supposed to have some connection with it, though I had never seen the creature in my life. Now the man has turned up safe and sound, and the pack of noodles have at last thought fit to allow a respectable woman to come home to her bed." "Oh, how good! Thank heaven! But, you have some one in there with you?" "In here--where?" "Why, in the room, aunt." "I? No, no one." "I am sure I heard--" "Now, really, you must go to bed, Winifred! What are you doing awake at this hour of the morning, roaming about the house? You were asleep half an hour ago--"