A silence, and then the unmistakable sound of gravel being thrown against a window. Perhaps it was Dick and he wanted to see her. She slipped out of bed, pulled a dressing gown about her, opened the door of the dark room and went in. The windows were closed, but as she entered the room she was startled by a third handful of gravel that sounded with terrifying distinctness. With trembling hands she pulled up the catch and pushed the casement open. A man was standing down below, and for a second she did not recognize him. And then everything went round; she had to grip the window ledge for support. It was Harry Chelford! “Is that you, my dear?” His voice was little above a whisper but remarkably clear. She managed to answer: “Yes.” She was so dumbfounded that she could not ask one of the thousand questions which crowded to her lips. “Harry! And alive!” “You are in terrible danger,” he said. “Will you come down? I can get a ladder.” Before she could answer he had disappeared, and presently he came back, carrying a triangular-shaped ladder, and planted it against the side. The top came within a foot of the window ledge. “I can’t come, Harry; I’m not dressed. Besides, Miss Wenner is here.” He raised his finger to his lips. “Don’t wake her,” he said. He had a little roll of something in his hand and she noticed that he was bareheaded. “Can’t you dress? I must see you.” “Shall I call Dick?” “No, no.” In his energy he almost raised his voice and looked back over his shoulder. “That would spoil everything, and it would endanger his life. Dress quickly, my dear.” What should she do? Her first instinct was to run to the door and tell the guard what she had seen; her second was to obey him. His earnestness and the terror in his voice made her yield to his suggestion. Quickly she dressed by candlelight, hoping and praying that Mary Wenner would wake up. Once she knocked against the girl’s bed, but Miss Wenner slept peacefully, a seraphic smile on her good-looking face, and the only notice she took of the disturbance was to murmur, “Dick!” It needed that ludicrous interlude to restore Leslie’s courage; for she could not be amused and afraid at the same time. Perhaps Dick was waiting below, she thought, and swinging herself over the sill, she reached out her foot, found the top rung of the ladder, and came down. Harry was standing on the grass plot, curiously alert and watchful. “What is it, Harry?” she asked in a low voice, but he put his finger to his lips again and led her, not, as she expected, toward the front of the house, but by a wide circuit, keeping to the shadow of the trees, until they went past the rosary and near to the stables. A dog barked as they passed in silence. “I can’t go any farther, Harry.” “You must, you must!” His voice was urgent, compelling. “I tell you that not only my life, but your own is in danger.” “But what of Miss Wenner?” She drew back.