n us. Not anybody.
Not The Author--nor his secretary--nor whatever guests come--nor Mr.
Nicholas Jelnik--nor--nor Doctor Richard Geddes." Her head pressed
closer to my knees.

"We came first, you and I," said Alicia, in a muffled whisper. "We
are more to each other than any of them can be to us. You'll
remember that, won't you?"

"I will remember, you absurd Alicia!" But I did not ask my dear girl
what her incoherent words might mean. I did not ask why the soft
cheek against my hand was wet.

As I have said before, Hynds House is but two stories high, with
deep cellars under it, and an immense attic overhead; an attic all
cut up into nooks and corners, and twists and turns, and sloping
roofs and dormer windows, and two or three shallow steps going up
here, and two or three more going down there, and passages and doors
where you'd never look for them. We had never been able fully to
explore our attic. It was Ali Baba's cave to us, with half its
treasures unguessed and every trunk and box whispering, "Say 'Open,
Sesame,' to me, and see what you'll find!"

While I was sitting with Alicia's head against my knee, a light,
swift footstep sounded overhead in the attic, followed by a sort of
stumble, as if somebody had slipped on one of those unexpected
steps. Alicia rose quickly.

"Sophy," she breathed, "I have thought, once or twice, that I heard
somebody walking in the attic."

"We will soon find out who it is, then," said I. Noiselessly we
stole out into the hall, past the sleeping Westmacotes, and Miss
Emmeline Phelps-Parsons who so longed to come in closer contact with
the occult and unknown. We moved like ghosts, ourselves, our
felt-soled mules making no sound.

The Author opened his door just as we approached it, and held up an
imperious finger.

"Did you hear it, too?" he whispered. And walking ahead of us, he
stole up the cork-screw stairway at the end of the side hall, lifted
the latch of the attic door, and stepped inside.

It was frightfully dark up there. If you peered through the
uncurtained windows you could see tree-tops tossing like black waves
against the dark sky, and in between them rolling clouds, and little
bright patchwork spaces of stars. And it was so quiet you could hear
your heart beat, and your breathing seemed to rattle in your ears.
We strained our eyes, seeking to pierce the gloom, stealing forward
step by step. A board creaked, noisily; and then--I could have sworn
it--then somethi