I was still some distance from the building—it was about fifteen minutes’ walk, I should say—when I heard somebody calling to me in a distressed voice. I looked ’round behind me, and to the right and left; and when finally I walked ahead I saw Miss Haviland fly out through the swinging door of the New Gainsborough and stand there at the top of the high granite stoop, beckoning frantically. She had on a mauve-colored kimono, which she was holding together rather desperately in front, and her hair was uncaught behind and streaming in the wind. “Edith! Edith!” she called out. “Quick!” She had never called me by my first name before. What could it be?—at this late hour, too? She waited a second to be sure I was coming, then dodged back under cover. I ran. I sprang up the granite steps. “See if you see anybody!” she commanded, breathlessly, peeping out at me. “No, I don’t,” I said, looking. “There’s nobody, Miss Haviland.” “But there must be,” she insisted. “Look again! Look everywhere!” I did so. “There _isn’t_, Miss Haviland,” I said back through the opening. “Why won’t you believe me?” “Go down again, do go right down,” she kept saying, “and _see_!” I shook my head. But at that she leaped out on to the stoop and took me by the shoulder and pushed me. “Run out behind the building—oh, be quick!” she beseeched. “Look all along the road, and if you see anybody, stop him and tell me!” I ran. The road was empty. I came dazedly back. “There’s nobody in sight,” I panted, “not a soul.” “Run over to that tree where you can see ’round the turn in the avenue!” I ran again. I stretched my eyes in vain, but there wasn’t a person of any sort or description. “Once more—_please_!” She started down the steps as I started up. “Over by the chapel—you may find somebody walking. _Hurry!_” I hurried. I was out of breath and hardly knew what I was doing. “They’re all in, getting ready, Miss Haviland. How can you expect me to find anybody now?” I asked, pointlessly, and in some indignation as I reapproached her. But she rushed down the steps and stopped me halfway, her mauve kimono fluttering open, and the gilt high-heeled slippers she had donned in her haste gleaming garishly against the unswept stone. “Listen! Harken!” she whispered. “Do you hear a motor? Don’t you? Try again!” It was still as death. I stared up at her in terror. Not till then did I realize how serious it was. But I had never seen a woman look like that. I had never seen the anguish of helplessness in the hour of need written so plain. Her eyes seemed to open wider and wider—I had to turn away—and awful lines came on her forehead. She stretched out both arms and uttered a long Oh-h! that started in her throat and went up into a high-pitched note of pain. She was to me positively like a wild woman.