Ten minutes later, Janet regained her room unobserved, and drawing a chair to the window sat staring out into the night. Below, she could hear the murmur of voices, as her father and aunt talked in the sitting-room. By and by—it seemed a long, interminable time—she heard them coming up the stairs; then a light knock sounded at her door.
"Asleep, little girl?" her father called softly.
"No; not yet," she answered.
"How's the head?"
"Better," she said. "It will be all right in the morning, dad, I'm sure."
"That's good," he said. "Good-night, dear."
"Good-night, dad," she responded.
His steps passed on along the hall, and a wistful little smile crept to Janet's lips. It was not often that she and her father played at cross purposes—and it was he who had so solicitously urged her to go to her room and lie down when, early in the evening, she had complained of her headache!
Midnight came at last—how many times had she consulted her watch by the aid of a match!—how terribly, how anxiously the time had dragged by! She put on her cloak, moved toward the door—and stopped. Money—Varge would need money! He would not take it from her—but he would not surely refuse it as a loan from Captain Sully. She went to her dresser, found her purse, took out the bills that were in it, and placed them in the pocket of her cloak—then she crossed to the door, opened it, and stood on the threshold listening.
All was silence—only her heart was beating wildly;
