The moon’s rays shone in her white face, so pale and horror-struck, and she saw that the storm was over and the sky clear again. “Oh, how much longer must I stay here?--how long before the dawn?” she muttered, fearfully, gazing straight before her into the night, as if afraid to look back into the grewsome room with its dark, shadowy corners. And this was Fly-away Floy, the fearless, with her nerves of steel, and her contemptuous disbelief in the supernatural--this pale, startled creature who had just looked into the mirror to see if the golden locks of youth had changed to the frosty ones of age. What had changed and shaken the careless girl like this? Would she ever reveal the secret? Or would her indomitable pride seal her lips? She leaned out of the window, reaching down and breaking off great clusters of wet, fragrant lilacs, in which she buried her stricken face, while low, bursting sobs convulsed her form--sobs of abject misery. Hark! what was that sound? Only the low wind of the summer night soughing through the trees. “No,” she cried, dismissing the fancy and springing to her feet, “it is a step in the hall!” She clung to the window-sill, looking over her shoulder with terrified blue eyes, her heart beating wildly against her side. She was half tempted to spring from the window and seek refuge in flight. But it was at least ten feet from the ground, and she did not fancy the idea of making a cripple of herself. The door was suddenly flung open, and a laughing voice exclaimed, eagerly: “Where are you, Floy?” The very sound of a human voice was bliss to her after the long and fearful night. She sprung up, sobbing with joy and relief, as Otho Maury entered the room with a lantern. “So you have come for me! I--I didn’t guess it was near daylight yet,” she faltered. “It isn’t, Floy--only a little past midnight.” He came up to her with a jubilant air, and his eager, dark eyes burned on her face as he continued: “But I couldn’t rest for thinking of you, Floy, all alone in this terrible place, exposed to Heaven knows what dangers! I--I--my heart ached for your loneliness, dear little one, and so I came to share your vigil.” At the first moment her face had brightened with relief, but when he came up close she drew back shrinkingly, and at his words she took swift alarm. “You have been frightened. I knew you would be, though you pretended to be so brave. I see the tears on your lashes. Now, aren’t you glad I came?” triumphantly. “Yes, I’m glad, for I did wrong to come. I’ve grown nervous waiting here alone, and you may take me home at once,” she answered, gratefully, throwing on her hat and turning toward the door. “Wait a little, Floy, for there’s a storm coming up. I did not think you would want to go until daylight, when the committee called for you with a carriage.” She recoiled, looking at him with startled eyes. “Do you mean to say that they did not come with you--that you came here alone?” she demanded.