It was a clear, starlit night, with no moon, and Shirley sat on the porch listening to the chirping of the crickets and idly watching the flashes of the mysterious fireflies.

She was in no mood for reading and sat for a long time rocking herself engrossed in her thoughts.

Suddenly she heard someone unfasten the garden gate.

It was too soon for the return of the promenaders; it must be a visitor.

Through the uncertain penumbra of the garden she discerned approaching a form which looked familiar.