She folded her nightgown neatly about her legs, thrust them down into the bed.

Again she looked slowly, searchingly, about the room to make absolutely sure she had forgotten nothing, had put everything in perfect order.

Once in bed, she hated to get out; yet if she should recall any omission, however slight, she would be unable to sleep until she had corrected it.

Finally, sure as fallible humanity can be, she turned out the last light, lay down--went instantly to sleep.
It was hardly a quarter of an hour after the vanishing of that last ray when Sam, standing now with heart beating fast and a lump of expectancy, perhaps of trepidation, too, in his throat, saw a figure issue from the front door and move round to the side veranda.

He made a detour on the lawn, so as to keep out of view both from house and street, came up to the veranda, called to her softly.
"Can you get over the rail ?" asked she in the same low tone.
"Let's go back to the summer house," urged he.
"No.