oung woman, and before it the girls stopped, fascinated, to
gaze a long while.

There was little or nothing in this room to indicate that any strange
happening had transpired here. A few books were strewn about as though
they had been pulled out and thrown down hastily, but that was all. The
one thing that attracted most strongly was the portrait of the beautiful
woman--she seemed scarcely more than a girl--over the fireplace. The two
explorers turned to gaze at it afresh.

"There's one thing I've noticed about it that's different from the
others," said Joyce, thoughtfully. "It's fresher and more--more modern
than the rest of the portraits in the drawing-room and hall. Don't you
think so?" Cynthia did.

"And look at her dress, those long, full sleeves and the big, bulging
skirt! That's different, too. And then her hair, not high and powdered
and all fussed up, but low and parted smooth and drawn down over her
ears, and that dear little wreath of tiny roses! She almost seems to be
going to speak. And, oh, Cynthia, isn't she beautiful with those big,
brown eyes! Somehow I feel as if I just loved her--she's such a
_darling_! And _I_ believe she had more to do with the queer things in
this house than any of those other dead-and-alive picture-ladies. Tell
you what! We'll go to the public library to-morrow and get out a big
book on costumes of the different centuries that I saw there once. Then,
by looking up this one, we can tell just about what time she lived. What
do you say?"

"As usual, you've thought of just the thing to do. I never would have,"
murmured Cynthia, still gazing at the picture of the lovely lady.
Suddenly Joyce started nervously:

"Hush! Do you hear anything? I'm almost certain I heard a sound in the
other room!" They both fell to listening intently. Yes, there _was_ a
sound, a strange, indefinable one like a soft tiptoeing at long
intervals, and even a curious, hoarse breathing. Something was certainly
outside in the drawing-room.

"What shall we _do_?" breathed Cynthia. "We can't get out of here
without passing through that room! Oh, Joyce!" They listened again.
The sound appeared to be approaching the door. It was, without doubt, a
soft tiptoeing step. Suddenly there was the noise of a chair scraping on
the floor as if it had been accidentally brushed against. Both girls
were now numb with terror. They were caught as in a trap. There was no
escape. They could only wait in racking suspense where t