"Light the others," Betty directed. "All of them--every one"--indicating with a wave of her hand the standing lamp at the foot of the stairs and several reading lamps placed on small tables near comfortable lounging chairs where Paul Abbott and his guests had been wont to pass the long winter evenings. Betty waited on the stair landing until her peremptory order had been carried out, then slowly approached the fireplace. She turned back on reaching there and addressed Martha. "Take my coat," she said, extending it. "And my hat"--She removed it as she spoke. "And prepare a bedroom for me." "A what, Miss?" "A bedroom. I propose staying here to-night." Martha gazed at her as if she had not heard aright. "Here, Miss?" she faltered. "Here?" "Certainly." Betty regarded the frightened woman more attentively. "Do as I tell you." Her sharp tone aroused Martha from her startled contemplation of her. "You can take my hat and coat upstairs as you go and hang them in the bedroom closet. Come, what's the matter with you?" "Nothing, Miss, nothing." Martha reached out a reluctant hand and took the proffered coat and hat, then without further word she hastened up the staircase. So great was her speed that she stumbled breathlessly into a bedroom halfway down the corridor of the second floor, the door of which stood partly open. Miriam Ward turned at her unceremonious entrance and regarded her in astonishment. "What is it?" she asked, alarmed at the woman's pallor. "Are you ill?" Martha shook her head as she advanced to the closet and, opening the door, disappeared inside, to reappear the next instant, empty-handed. "No, ma'am, I ain't ill," she volunteered, resting one hand on the chair-back. "But I think she are." "She? Who?" "Miss Betty Carter." Martha breathed more easily. "She says she is going to stay here all night." Miriam stared at the woman. "Well, what of it?" she asked. "Why shouldn't she stay if she wishes to?" "All by her lonesome and Mr. Paul lying here dead!" Martha's voice of disapproval registered a higher key than her usual monotone. "Who is going to watch after her? That is," catching herself up, "look after her?" "You, I suppose," replied Miriam. "Are you not accustomed to doing the housework?" "Sure." Martha's voice grew more natural. "And Mr. Paul always said I was a prime cook. Say, Miss Ward, ye ain't going, are ye?" "Very shortly, yes." Miriam Ward returned to the table on which stood her leather bag which she had been packing when interrupted by Martha, and laid in it her neatly folded white uniform. The metal case containing hypodermic syringe, thermometer, and small phials of stimulants was next tucked carefully inside, and then Miriam closed and locked the bag. "Have you seen Doctor Roberts recently?"