This time he locked the outer door carefully, and lay down on the bed, wondering if there would be any further developments.  As he attempted to think, he was listening eagerly for the slightest sound of movement in the hall.  There were none; the transom stood partially open, but no noise reached his ears from the outside; clearly enough the night prowler, assured that he was still awake, had decided to make no further effort.  Doubtless she believed her escape had been unseen, or, at least, that she had remained unrecognized in the gloom, and would now resort to some entirely different method for achieving her end, whatever it could be.  He could only wait, and watch for the next move.  Perhaps the morning would bring full explanation.  With this conception in his mind, his head sought the pillow, and he lapsed into unconsciousness.

The long training of army service caused West to awaken early, while the house was yet quiet, but with the dawn already red in the East.  He crossed to the window, and looked out.  It was a beautiful morning, the green lawn yet sparkling with dew; the estate was evidently a fine one, quite extensive and carefully attended to.  To the right of the tennis court was a well arranged flower garden, criss-crossed by white paths, an ornate summer-house in its centre, completely concealed by vines.  Beyond this, conspicuous against the green back-ground, West caught the flutter of a white skirt, realizing instantly that, early as the hour was, Natalie Coolidge was already up and about.  He wondered if her presence might not be an invitation for him?  Perhaps she had deliberately chosen this early hour, before the others awoke, to explain her strange conduct of the previous evening?  At least, here was an opportunity to see and talk with her alone.

He dressed swiftly, and slipped noiselessly down-stairs, unlocking the front door, and emerging into the fresh air, without encountering any stray members of the household.  Not even a servant was visible.  He passed beyond the vine draped arbour before she realized his approach, and straightened up, a freshly cut rose in one gloved hand, the pruning shears in the other, welcoming him with a little laugh, her eyes full of demure mischief.

“I rather suspected army discipline had not entirely worn off,” she said pleasantly, “and that you might still prove to be an early riser.”

“And does this expectation account for your presence?”

“Not wholly; it has become a habit with me.  I am always the first one out in the morning, and it will be an hour yet before breakfast is served.  However, I promised to be very frank with you, did I not?  Then I will begin now; this morning I really hoped I might see you for a moment before the others were stirring—­we have so much to talk about.”

“It certainly seems so to me,” he responded honestly, yet not greatly encouraged by the amusement in her eyes.  “The night has been full of surprises.”