Pausing only a moment, however, she sped across the big neglected lawn and around the house to the side door under the porte-cochere.

Her fingers, stiff from their tight clutch upon the keys, were anything but skilful in their efforts to turn the bolt in the lock; but at last the heavy, carved door swung slowly back on its hinges.
Pollyanna caught her breath.

In spite of her feeling of haste, she paused a moment and looked fearfully through the vestibule to the wide, sombre hall beyond, her thoughts in a whirl.

This was John Pendleton's house; the house of mystery; the house into which no one but its master entered; the house which sheltered, somewhere--a skeleton.

Yet she, Pollyanna, was expected to enter alone these fearsome rooms, and telephone the doctor that the master of the house lay now-- With a little cry Pollyanna, looking neither to the right nor the left, fairly ran through the hall to the door at the end and opened it.
The room was large, and sombre with dark woods and hangings like the hall; but through the west window the sun threw a long shaft of gold across the floor, gleamed dully on the tarnished brass andirons in the fireplace, and touched the nickel of the telephone on the great desk in the middle of the room.