ion Stanlock, "High Peak" in the trait and a torch bearer, had
read one of two letters, signed with a "skull and cross-bones," which
she found lying on the desk in her room after the adjournment of the
Grand Council Fire, doubtless there would have been an interruption,
and probably a change, in the holiday program of the Flamingo Camp
Fire. She saw the letters lying there and under ordinary circumstances
would have torn them open and read them, however hastily, before
retiring. But on this occasion she was rather tired, owing to the
activities and the excitement of the day and evening. Moreover, she
realized that she could not hope for anything but a wearisome journey
to Hollyhill on the following day unless she refreshed herself with as
many hours sleep as possible before train time.

So she merely glanced at the superscriptions on the envelopes to see
if the letters were from any of her relatives or friends, and, failing
to recognize either of them, she put them into her handbag, intending
to read them at the first opportunity next morning. Then she went to
bed and fell asleep almost instantly.

Marion was awakened in the morning by her roommate, Helen Nash, who
had quietly arisen half an hour earlier. The latter was almost ready
for breakfast when she woke her friend from a sleep that promised to
continue several hours longer unless interrupted. She had turned on
the electric light and was standing before the glass combing her hair.
Marion glanced at the clock to see what time it was, but the face was
turned away from her and the light in the room made it impossible for
her to observe through the window shades that day was just breaking.

"What time is it, Helen?" she asked. "Did the alarm go off? I didn't
hear it. What waked you up?"

Helen did not answer at once. For a moment or two her manner seemed to
indicate that she did not hear the questions of the girl in bed. Then,
as if suddenly rescuing her mind from thoughts that appealed to have
carried her away into some far distant abstraction, she replied thus,
in a series of disconnected utterances:

"No, the alarm didn't go off--a--Marion. I got up at 6 o'clock. I
turned the alarm off. It is 6:30 now. I don't know what woke me. I
just woke up."

Marion arose, wondering at the peculiar manner of her roommate and the
strained, almost convulsive, tone of her voice. She asked no further
questions, but proceeded with her dressing and preparation for
breakfast. F