"You could not know that I would do such a thing. I did not know it myself. Why, I never knew that Annie Eustace could write a book." "I knew that a self-lover could do anything and everything to further her own ends," said Alice in her inexorable voice, which yet contained an undertone of pity. She pitied Margaret far more than Annie could pity her for she had not loved her so much. She felt the little arm tremble in her clasp and her hand tightened upon it as a mother's might have done. "Now, we have had enough of this," said she, "quite enough. Margaret, you must positively go home at once. I will take your suit-case, and return it to you to-morrow. I shall be out driving. You can get in without being seen, can't you?" "I tell you both, I am going," said Margaret; "I cannot face what is before me." "All creation has to face what is before. Running makes no difference," said Alice. "You will meet it at the end of every mile. Margaret Edes, go home. Take care of your husband, and your children and keep your secret and let it tear you for your own good." "They are to nominate Wilbur for Senator," said Margaret. "If they knew, if he knew, Wilbur would not run. He has always had ambition. I should kill it." "You will not kill it," said Alice. "Here, give me that suit-case, I will set it inside the gate here. Now Annie and I will walk with you and you must steal in and not wake anybody and go to bed and to sleep." "To sleep," repeated Margaret bitterly. "Then not to sleep, but you must go." The three passed down the moon-silvered road. When they had reached Margaret's door, Alice suddenly put an arm around her and kissed her. "Go in as softly as you can, and to bed," she whispered. "What made you do that, Alice?" asked Annie in a small voice when the door had closed behind Margaret. "I think I am beginning to love her," whispered Alice. "Now you know what we must do, Annie?" "What?" "We must both watch until dawn, until after that train to New York which stops here at three-thirty. You must stand here and I will go to the other door. Thank God, there are only two doors, and I don't think she will try the windows because she won't suspect our being here. But I don't trust her, poor thing. She is desperate. You stay here, Annie. Sit down close to the door and--you won't be afraid?" "Oh, no!" "Of course, there is nothing to be afraid of," said Alice. "Now I will go to the other door." Annie sat there until the moon sank. She did not feel in the least sleepy. She sat there and counted up her joys of life and almost forgot poor Margaret who had trampled hers in the dust raised by her own feet of self-seeking. Then came the whistle and roar of a train and Alice stole around the house. "It is safe enough for us to go now," said she. "That was the last train. Do you think you can get in your house without waking anybody?"