awing feeling in her young stomach.

"I suppose soldiers feel like this when they are on a long and weary
march," she often said to herself. She liked the sound of the phrase,
"long and weary march." It made her feel rather like a soldier. She
had also a quaint sense of being a hostess in the attic.

"If I lived in a castle," she argued, "and Ermengarde was the lady of
another castle, and came to see me, with knights and squires and
vassals riding with her, and pennons flying, when I heard the clarions
sounding outside the drawbridge I should go down to receive her, and I
should spread feasts in the banquet hall and call in minstrels to sing
and play and relate romances. When she comes into the attic I can't
spread feasts, but I can tell stories, and not let her know
disagreeable things. I dare say poor chatelaines had to do that in
time of famine, when their lands had been pillaged." She was a proud,
brave little chatelaine, and dispensed generously the one hospitality
she could offer--the dreams she dreamed--the visions she saw--the
imaginings which were her joy and comfort.

So, as they sat together, Ermengarde did not know that she was faint as
well as ravenous, and that while she talked she now and then wondered
if her hunger would let her sleep when she was left alone. She felt as
if she had never been quite so hungry before.

"I wish I was as thin as you, Sara," Ermengarde said suddenly. "I
believe you are thinner than you used to be. Your eyes look so big,
and look at the sharp little bones sticking out of your elbow!"

Sara pulled down her sleeve, which had pushed itself up.

"I always was a thin child," she said bravely, "and I always had big
green eyes."

"I love your queer eyes," said Ermengarde, looking into them with
affectionate admiration. "They always look as if they saw such a long
way. I love them--and I love them to be green--though they look black
generally."

"They are cat's eyes," laughed Sara; "but I can't see in the dark with
them--because I have tried, and I couldn't--I wish I could."

It was just at this minute that something happened at the skylight
which neither of them saw. If either of them had chanced to turn and
look, she would have been startled by the sight of a dark face which
peered cautiously into the room and disappeared as quickly and almost
as silently as it had appeared. Not QUITE as silently, however. Sara,
who had keen ears, suddenly turned a little and lo