ttle. No--it had not been a servant, this
mysterious intruder who passed the Maitland silver on the sideboard
without an attempt to take it, and who floundered around an attic at
night, in search of nothing more valuable than patchwork quilts and
winter flannels. It is strange to look back and think how quietly we sat
there; that we could see nothing but burglary--or an attempt at it--in
what we had found.

It must have been after nine o'clock when Bella came running into the
room. Ordinarily a slow and clumsy creature, she almost flew. She had a
tray in her hand, and the dishes were rattling and threatening overthrow
at every step. She brought up against a chair, and a cup went flying.
The breaking of a cup must have been a serious offense in Miss Letitia
Maitland's house, but Bella took no notice whatever of it.

"Miss Jane," she gasped, "Miss Jane, she's--she's--"

"Hurt!" Margery exclaimed, rising and clutching at the table for
support.

"No. Gone--she's gone! She's been run off with!"

"Nonsense!" I said, seeing Margery's horrified face. "Don't come in here
with such a story. If Miss Jane is not in her room, she is somewhere
else, that's all."

Bella stooped and gathered up the broken cup, her lips moving. Margery
had recovered herself. She made Bella straighten and explain.

"Do you mean--she is not in her room?" she asked incredulously. "Isn't
she somewhere around the house?"

"Go up and look at the room," the girl replied, and, with Margery
leading, we ran up the stairs.

Miss Jane's room was empty. From somewhere near Miss Letitia could be
heard lecturing Hepsibah about putting too much butter on the toast. Her
high voice, pitched for Heppie's old ears, rasped me. Margery closed the
door, and we surveyed the room together.

The bed had been occupied; its coverings had been thrown back, as if
its occupant had risen hurriedly. The room itself was in a state of
confusion; a rocker lay on its side, and Miss Jane's clothing, folded as
she had taken it off, had slid off on to the floor. Her shoes stood
neatly at the foot of the bed, and a bottle of toilet vinegar had been
upset, pouring a stream over the marble top of the dresser and down on
to the floor. Over the high wooden mantel the Maitland who had been
governor of the state years ago hung at a waggish angle, and a clock had
been pushed aside and stopped at half-past one.

Margery stared around her in bewilderment. Of course, it was not until
later