ed the chair with a show of
anxiety.

"Just as good as ever," he said pleasantly. He laughed again, looking
at his sisters. "Did I scare you?" he said. "I should think you might
be used to me by this time. You know my way of wanting to leap to the
bottom of a mystery, and that shadow does look--queer, like--and I
thought if there was any way of accounting for it I would like to
without any delay."

"You don't seem to have succeeded," remarked Caroline dryly, with a
slight glance at the wall.

Henry's eyes followed hers and he quivered perceptibly.

"Oh, there is no accounting for shadows," he said, and he laughed
again. "A man is a fool to try to account for shadows."

Then the supper bell rang, and they all left the room, but Henry kept
his back to the wall, as did, indeed, the others.

Mrs. Brigham pressed close to Caroline as she crossed the hall. "He
looked like a demon!" she breathed in her ear.

Henry led the way with an alert motion like a boy; Rebecca brought up
the rear; she could scarcely walk, her knees trembled so.

"I can't sit in that room again this evening," she whispered to
Caroline after supper.

"Very well, we will sit in the south room," replied Caroline. "I think
we will sit in the south parlour," she said aloud; "it isn't as damp as
the study, and I have a cold."

So they all sat in the south room with their sewing. Henry read the
newspaper, his chair drawn close to the lamp on the table. About nine
o'clock he rose abruptly and crossed the hall to the study. The three
sisters looked at one another. Mrs. Brigham rose, folded her rustling
skirts compactly around her, and began tiptoeing toward the door.

"What are you going to do?" inquired Rebecca agitatedly.

"I am going to see what he is about," replied Mrs. Brigham cautiously.

She pointed as she spoke to the study door across the hall; it was
ajar. Henry had striven to pull it together behind him, but it had
somehow swollen beyond the limit with curious speed. It was still ajar
and a streak of light showed from top to bottom. The hall lamp was not
lit.

"You had better stay where you are," said Caroline with guarded
sharpness.

"I am going to see," repeated Mrs. Brigham firmly.

Then she folded her skirts so tightly that her bulk with its swelling
curves was revealed in a black silk sheath, and she went with a slow
toddle across the hall to the study door. She stood there, her eye at
the crack.

In the south r