I had just shaken myself into my overcoat when Uncle Beamish gave a subdued exclamation, and quickly turning, I saw entering the kitchen a female figure in winter wraps and carrying a hand-bag. "By George!" whispered the old man, "it's the patient!" The figure advanced directly toward me. "Oh, Dr. Glover!" she whispered, "I am so glad to get down before you went away!" I stared in amazement at the speaker, but even in the dim light I recognized her. This was the human being whose expected presence at the Collingwood mansion was taking me there to spend Christmas. "Kitty!" I exclaimed--"Miss Burroughs, I mean,--what is the meaning of this?" "Don't ask me for any meanings now," she said. "I want you and your uncle to take me to the Collingwoods'. I suppose you are on your way there, for they wrote you were coming. And oh! let us be quick, for I'm afraid Jane will come down, and she will be sure to wake up aunty. I saw one of you go out to the barn, and knew you intended to leave, so I got ready just as fast as I could. But I must leave some word for aunty." "I have written a note," said I. "But are you well enough to travel?" "Just let me add a line to it," said she. "I am as well as I ever was." I gave her a pencil, and she hurriedly wrote something on the paper which I had left on the kitchen table. Then, quickly glancing around, she picked up a large carving-fork, and sticking it through the paper into the soft wood of the table, she left it standing there. "Now it won't blow away when we open the door," she whispered. "Come on." "You cannot go out to the barn," I said; "we will bring up the sleigh." "Oh, no, no, no," she answered, "I must not wait here. If I once get out of the house I shall feel safe. Of course I shall go anyway, but I don't want any quarrelling on this Christmas morning." "I'm with you there," said Uncle Beamish, approvingly. "Doctor, we can take her to the barn without her touching the snow. Let her sit in this arm-chair, and we can carry her between us. She's no weight." In half a minute the kitchen door was softly closed behind us, and we were carrying Miss Burroughs to the barn. My soul was in a wild tumult. Dozens of questions were on my tongue, but I had no chance to ask any of them. Uncle Beamish and I returned to the porch for the valises, and then, closing the back door, we rapidly began to make preparations for leaving. "I suppose," said Uncle Beamish, as we went into the stable, leaving Miss Burroughs in the wagon-house, "that this business is all right? You seem to know the young woman, and she is of age to act for herself." "Whatever she wants to do," I answered, "is perfectly right. You may trust to that. I do not understand the matter any more than you do, but I know she is expected at the Collingwoods', and wants to go there." "Very good," said Uncle Beamish. "We'll git away fust and ask explanations afterwards."