A Midnight Visitor

And now it was destined that they should experience the one keen
sensation of their later years, the one memorable incident from which
all future incidents should be dated.

It was on the very night which succeeded the events which have just been
narrated, when suddenly into Monica William's head, as she tossed upon
her sleepless bed, there shot a thought which made her sit up with a
thrill and a gasp.

"Bertha," said she, plucking at the shoulder of her sister, "I have left
the front window open."

"No, Monica, surely not." Bertha sat up also, and thrilled in sympathy.

"I am sure of it. You remember I had forgotten to water the pots, and
then I opened the window, and Jane called me about the jam, and I have
never been in the room since."

"Good gracious, Monica, it is a mercy that we have not been murdered in
our beds. There was a house broken into at Forest Hill last week. Shall
we go down and shut it?"

"I dare not go down alone, dear, but if you will come with me. Put on
your slippers and dressing-gown. We do not need a candle. Now, Bertha,
we will go down together."

Two little white patches moved vaguely through the darkness, the stairs
creaked, the door whined, and they were at the front room window. Monica
closed it gently down, and fastened the snib.