She wondered if Sylvia had fled too hastily to take her few belongings. She crossed the room to the closet, and opened the door. It was empty, but on the floor lay the pillow slip which Sylvia had defended from John so heatedly. Edna looked at the white bag with some repugnance. There recurred to her the appealing look in the girl's eyes as she had hurried into the house yesterday noon. Edna stooped and lifted the bag. It was heavy and stiff. She brought it out into the room, and opened it with some shrinking. What met her eyes were a number of sheets of brown wrapping-paper. She drew one partly out. It was apparently smeared with dark paint. Hastily pulling the paper from the bag, she beheld a sketch of Beacon Island. She hurried over to the bed, and with eager hands drew sheet after sheet from the bag and spread them out. They formed three rows of sketches on the white coverlet, and Edna's eyes sparkled with interest as she recognized the subjects. The work had apparently been done with some blunt instrument instead of a brush. The effects were broad, after the manner of a charcoal drawing. Edna compressed her lips as she gazed. Suddenly she crossed to an open window and leaned out. Fortune favored her. John Dunham was strolling in sight beyond the piazza. She called him softly. He heard, and she beckoned him beneath the window. "Can you come up here," she asked, "without letting the others know?" Dunham assented with alacrity; but thought flies fast, and he had time for many misgivings as he mounted the stairs in bounds. Was Edna about to have it out with Sylvia, and was he being called as a witness to face a culprit and prove a position? If so, he promptly decided to have an acute attack of paresis. Sylvia's door was ajar, and Edna standing by the bedside. "I needed somebody, and I chose you," she said over her shoulder. "Come and see what Sylvia has done." Her tone was excited, and Dunham's heart beat fast as he paused at the door. What had Sylvia done? CHAPTER XXX THE LIGHT BREAKS "Come here," said Edna, and moving aside she indicated the sketches. John drew near. "This is what was in that pillow slip yesterday." Dunham regarded the rough work with large eyes. "By Jove!" he exclaimed. "She has it in her, hasn't she?" "Just see the composition," returned Edna. "See the directness." "What's it done with?" asked Dunham. "Not a brush." "No, some sort of a stump; and it's such a queer color. I've been trying to make out--John Dunham!" Edna's tone suddenly changed. "This is that blueberry juice!" Dunham's mouth fell open. The two stood staring at each other, and, as many perceptions and explanations flowed into their thought, they colored slowly, and as richly as sunburn would permit. "That is the love philtre, John," said Edna, when they had been a long time silent, and she caught her lip between her teeth, for her own condemnation pressed upon her more heavily with each enlightening consideration.