he single window of Mary's apartment, whose only door opened into
the shed, and pounded with his knuckles on the ill-fitted sash, making
it clatter loudly. Silence within followed this noise without. "Hello!
Wake up!" he cried. "Don't fool for a minute. Wake up!"

There was no response, and he skipped to and fro in his impatience. He
was an ordinary shoveler and pounder, with nothing to distinguish him
from the mass of manual laborers at Overlook, but, unlike the usual man
with an errand at the telegraphic station, flourished a scrap of paper.

"I want to telegraph," he shouted, and struck the window again. "Get up
quick! It's life and death!"

Mary Warriner was convinced that her services were urgently and properly
required. She peeped warily out to inspect the man, estimated him to be
merely a messenger, and then opened wide the sash, which swung laterally
on hinges. Her delicate face bore the same sort of calm that
characterized it in business hours, but the moon shone on it now, the
hair had got loose from the bondage of knot and pin, and for an outer
garment she was carelessly enwrapped in a white, fleecy blanket. The man
did not give her time to inquire what was wanted.

"You're the telegraph girl, ain't you?" he exclaimed. "Well, here's
something to telegraph. It's in a hurry, hurry, hurry. Don't lose a
minute."

"I couldn't send it to-night," Mary said.

"You must."

"It isn't possible. There is nobody at the other end of the line to
receive it. The wire is private--belongs to the railroad company--isn't
operated except in the daytime. You'll have to wait until to-morrow."

"To-morrow I'll be a hundred years old, or else dead," the man almost
wailed in despair.

"What?"

"I was only ten years old yesterday. To-night I'm sixty. To-morrow'll be
too late. Here--here--send it to-night, Miss. Please send it to-night."

The mystified girl mechanically took the piece of paper which he thrust
into her hands, but her eyes did not drop before they discovered the
insanity in his face, and when they did rest on the paper they saw a
scrawl of hieroglyphics. It was plain that this midnight visitor was a
maniac. She screamed for help.

A watchman responded almost instantly to her call. Upon seeing the cause
of the girl's fright, he treated the incident as a matter of course. The
lunatic wobbled like a drunken man about to collapse, as he mumbled his
request over and over again.

"Here, now, Eph," the watchman s