ed bitterly, even doggedly, but finally gave it up.
"Well," he said in the end, "if you will, you will. All the King's horses
and all the King's men can't stop you when you've once made up your mind."

A few days later she called for Lutie in the automobile and they went
together to the grim old house near Washington Square. Her mind was made
up, as George had put it. She was going to open the house and have it put
in order for occupancy as soon as possible.

She had solved the meaning of Braden's postscript. She would have to prove
to him, first of all, that she was not afraid of the shadow that lay
inside the walls of that grim old house. "If you are not also a coward you
will return to my grandfather's house, where you belong." It was, she
honestly believed, his way of telling her that if she faced the shadow in
her own house, and put it safely behind her, her fortitude would not go
unrewarded!

It did not occur to her that she was beginning badly when she delayed
going down to the house for two whole days because Lutie was unable to
accompany her.

The windows and doors were boarded up. There was no sign of life about the
place when they got down from the limousine and mounted the steps at the
heels of the footman who had run on ahead to ring the bell. They waited
for the opening of the inner door and the shooting of the bolts in the
storm-doors, but no sound came to their ears. Again the bell jangled,--how
well she remembered the old-fashioned bell at the end of the hall!--and
still no response from within.

The two women looked at each other oddly. "Try the basement door," said
Anne to the man. They stood at the top of the steps while the footman
tried the iron gate that barred the way to the tradesmen's door. It was
pad-locked.

"I asked Simmy to meet us here at eleven," said Anne nervously. "I expect
it will cost a good deal to do the house over as I want--Doesn't any one
answer, Peters?"

"No, ma'am. Maybe he's out."

Lutie's face blanched suddenly. "My goodness, Anne, what if--what if he's
dead in--"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Lutie," cried Anne impatiently, "don't go to
imagining--Still it's very odd. Pound on the door, Peters,--hard."

She shivered a little and turned away so that Lutie could not see the
expression in her eyes. "I have had no word from him in nearly two weeks.
He calls up once every fortnight to inquire--You are not pounding hard
enough, Peters."

"Let's go away," said Lutie, sta