calico and a sun-bonnet not to look like myself; and I went home and wrote that letter I gave you, Mr. Sheriff, with my will and the money.” “The parcel is unopened still,” said Amos. “I gave you my word, you know.” “Yes, I know. I knew you would keep your word. And it was just after I wrote you I slipped down the cellar stairs. It came of being in a hurry. I made sure I never _would_ get on my feet again, but very soon I discovered that I was more scared than hurt. And I saw then there might be a chance of keeping him off his guard if he thought I was like to die, and that thus I might escape the readier. It was not hard to fool the doctors. I did just the same with them I did with the asylum folks. I said yes whenever I thought they expected it, and though I had some contradictory symptoms, they made out a bad state of things with the spine, and gave mighty little hope of my recovery. But what I hadn’t counted on was that my _friends_ would take such good care of me. I didn’t know I had friends. It pleased me so I was wanting to cry for joy; yet it frightened me so I didn’t know which way to turn.” “But, great heavens! Aunt Margaret,” the young Southerner burst out, unable to restrain himself longer, “you had no need to be so afraid of _me_!” The old woman looked at him, more in suspicion than in hope, but she went on, not answering: “The night I did escape, it was by accident. I never would say one word to him hardly, though he tried again and again to start a talk; but I would seem too ill; and he’s a Cary, anyhow, and couldn’t be rude to a lady. That night he went into the other room. He was so quiet I reckoned he was asleep, and, thinking that here might be a chance for me, I slipped out of bed, soft as soft, and slipped over to the crack of the door—it just wasn’t closed!—and I peeked in on him—” “And you were behind the door when he heard the noise?” exclaimed Amos. “But what made the noise?” “Oh, I reckon just ’Squire jumping out of the window; he gave a kind of screech.” “But I don’t understand,” cried Allerton. “I went into the room, and it was empty.” “No, sir,” said Miss Cary, plucking up more spirit in the presence of Wickliff—“no, sir; I was behind the door. You didn’t push it shut.” “But I ran all round the room.” “No, sir; not till you looked out of the window. While you were looking out of the window I slipped out of the door; and I was so scared lest you should see me that I wasn’t afraid of anything else; and I got down-stairs while you were looking in the closet, and found my clothes there, and so got out.” “But I was _sure_ I went round the room first,” cried Allerton. “Very likely; but you see you didn’t,” remarked Amos. “It was because I remembered stubbing my toe”—Allerton was painfully ploughing up his memories—“I am _certain_ I stubbed my toe, and it must have been going round the—no; by—I beg your pardon—I stubbed it against the bed, going to the window. I was all wrong.”