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Within fifty feet of the house the courage of the chauffeur returned.

“You wait here,” he whispered, “and if I wake ’em up, you shout to ’em that it’s all right, that it’s only me.”

“Your idea being,” said the young man, “that they will then fire at me. Clever lad. Run along.”

There was a rustling of the dead weeds, and instantly the chauffeur was swallowed in the encompassing shadows.

Miss Forbes leaned toward the young man.

“Do you see a light in that lower story?” she whispered.

“No,” said the man. “Where?”

After a pause the girl answered: “I can’t see it now, either. Maybe I didn’t see it. It was very faint–just a glow–it might have been phosphorescence.”

“It might,” said the man. He gave a shrug of distaste. “The whole place is certainly old enough and decayed enough.”

For a brief space they stood quite still, and at once, accentuated by their own silence, the noises of the night grew in number and distinctness. A slight wind had risen and the boughs of the pines rocked restlessly, making mournful complaint; and at their feet the needles dropping in a gentle desultory shower had the sound of rain in springtime. From every side they were startled by noises they could not place. Strange movements and rustlings caused them to peer sharply into the shadows; footsteps, that seemed to approach, and, then, having marked them, skulk away; branches of bushes that suddenly swept together, as though closing behind some one in stealthy retreat. Although they knew that in the deserted garden they were alone, they felt that from the shadows they were being spied upon, that the darkness of the place was peopled by malign presences.

The young man drew a cigar from his case and put it unlit between his teeth.

“Cheerful, isn’t it?” he growled. “These dead leaves make it damp as a tomb. If I’ve seen one ghost, I’ve seen a dozen. I believe we’re standing in the Carey family’s graveyard.”

“I thought you were brave,” said the girl.

“I am,” returned the young man, “very brave. But if you had the most wonderful girl on earth to take care of in the grounds of a madhouse at two in the morning, you’d be scared too.”

He was abruptly surprised by Miss Forbes laying her hand firmly upon his shoulder, and turning him in the direction of the house. Her face was so near his that he felt the uneven fluttering of her breath upon his cheek.

“There is a man,” she said, “standing behind that tree.”

By the faint light of the stars he saw, in black silhouette, a shoulder and head projecting from beyond the trunk of a huge oak, and then quickly withdrawn. The owner of the head and shoulder was on the side of the tree nearest to themselves, his back turned to them, and so deeply was his attention engaged that he was unconscious of their presence.

“He is watching the house,” said the girl. “Why is he doing that?”

“I think it’s Fred,” whispered the man. “He’s afraid to go for the water. That’s as far as he’s gone.” He was about to move forward when from the oak tree there came a low whistle. The girl and the man stood silent and motionless. But they knew it was useless; that they had been overheard. A voice spoke cautiously.

“That you?” it asked.

With the idea only of gaining time, the young man responded promptly and truthfully. “Yes,” he whispered.

“Keep to the right of the house,” commanded the voice.

The young man seized Miss Forbes by the wrist and moving to the right drew her quickly with him. He did not stop until they had turned the corner of the building, and were once more hidden by the darkness.

“The plot thickens,” he said. “I take it that that fellow is a keeper, or watchman. He spoke as though it were natural there should be another man in the grounds, so there’s probably two of them, either to keep Carey in, or to keep trespassers out. Now, I think I’ll go back and tell him that Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water, and that all they want is to be allowed to get the water, and go.”