etween the brows. Then, feeling like a spy,
she returned to the darkness of the landing where Phoebe and Jane and
Christopher were wondering what she did.

She might have been a mother who, waking from a bad dream, goes about
the house to see that all is safe: she wished she could go into each
room to make sure that its occupant was there, but such kindnesses had
never been encouraged in a family trained to restraint; moreover, Miriam
might wake in fright, Rupert was a light sleeper and John had an
uncertain temper. There was nothing to do but to go back to bed, and she
did not want to do that. She could not sleep, and she would rather stay
on the landing with the Pinderwells, so she leaned against the wall and
folded her arms across her breast. She wanted to be allowed to care for
people practically and she wished her brothers and sister were small
enough to be held in the arms which had to be contented with herself.
She had, she complained silently to the Pinderwells, to pretend not to
care for the others very much, lest she should weary them. But she had
her secret visions of a large house with unencumbered shining floors on
which children could slide, with a broad staircase down which they would
come heavily, holding to the rails and bringing both feet to each stair.
She lived there with them happily, not thwarted by moods and past
miseries, and though she had not yet seen the father of those children
about the house, tonight, as she stood in the covering darkness, she
thought she heard his footsteps in the garden where the children played
among the trees.

She moved abruptly, slipped, and sat down with a thud. Her laughter,
like a ghost's, trickled through the stillness, and even while she
laughed a door was opened and John appeared, holding a lighted candle in
his hand.

"It's only me," Helen said.

"What the devil are you up to?"

"I'm not up to anything. I'm on the floor."

"Ill?"

"No."

"I thought I heard some one prowling about."

"Couldn't you sleep either?"

He put his fingers through his hair. "No, I couldn't sleep."

"The house is full of--something, isn't it?"

"Fools, I think," he answered, laughing a little. "Look here, you
mustn't sit there. It's cold. Get up."

"Help me."

"Why didn't you put on your dressing-gown?"

"You didn't."

"I don't wear this flimsy rubbish. Go back to bed."

"Yes. What's the time?"

"One o'clock. The longest night I've ever known!"

Rather wistfull