"Why, Beatrix, poor child, what has happened? What are you doing out so early? What is the matter?"
She looked up, her brain clearing at the sight of another human being. James stood before her, his gun upon his shoulder, tall, strong, and alarmed.
She gasped out her story, hoping for help.
"I put Tom into Miss Marlow's room last night to frighten her. I think she is dead, for she did not answer my knocking."
The young man looked at her a moment, as if not quite understanding, then laughed.
"Miss Marlow slept with mother last night," he said; "she was afraid of the visitors' room when she heard you say it was haunted."
Beatrix closed her eyes, and would have fallen, only he held her hands. She opened them, and found him staring sternly at her.
"It was a dangerous trick for you to play," he said, "and unlike you. Why did you do it?"
The girl looked at him a moment, and read the dawn of a discovery in his eyes. She hid her face in her hands, and burst into
