“That’s all there is of it,” said Evelyn, reassuringly, to herself, although at the same time she felt uneasiness enough to send her out into the hall to a gable window over the porch, which commanded a view of the camp.  Nothing stirring was to be seen, except the dwindling flame of the evening camp-fire, burned every night for cheer, not for warmth.  Evelyn crept to a side window.  As she reached it a white figure could be seen hurrying away through the orchard.

Back in her room, Evelyn dressed with as much haste as Lucy had done, if with less care.  Instead of the white frock of the evening, however, she put on a dark blue linen, for she was sure that she must follow Lucy and discover what this strange departure, stealthily made at midnight, could mean.

She went down to the front door.  The moment she opened it a tall figure started up from one of the long lounging chairs there, and Jeff’s voice said softly, “Charlotte?”

“No, it’s Evelyn,” she whispered back.  “Don’t be surprised.  I thought everybody in the camp was asleep.”

“I wasn’t sleepy, and thought I’d lounge here till I was.  What’s the matter?  Anybody sick?”

“No.  I’m just going for a little walk.”

“Walk?  At this hour?  Can’t you sleep?  But you mustn’t go and walk alone, you know.  I’ll go with you.”

She did not want to tell him, but she saw no other way.

“It’s Lucy,” she explained hurriedly.  “She’s dressed and gone out somewhere, and I can’t think why.  It frightened me, and I’m going to follow her.”

“No, you stay here and I’ll follow.  Which way did she go?  What can she be up to?  That girl’s a queer one, and I’ve thought so from the first.”

“No, no!  There’s some explanation.  It may be she walks in her sleep, you know—­though I’m sure she’s never done it this winter.  Let me go, Jeff; she’ll get too far.  She took the path toward the river.  Oh, if it should be sleep-walking——­”

“I guess it’s not sleep-walking.”  Jeff’s tone was skeptical.

But Evelyn had started away at a run, and Jeff was after her.  The two hastened along with light, noiseless steps.  At the bottom of the path, on the very brink of the river, was an old summer-house, looking out over the water.  It was a favourite retreat, for the boat-house and the landing were but a rod away, and after a row on the river the shaded summer-house was a pleasant place in which to linger.

“Hush!” breathed Evelyn, stopping short as they neared the summer-house.

They advanced with caution, and presently, as they drew within speaking distance of the little structure, they saw a white-clad figure emerge from it and stand just outside.  Jeff drew Evelyn quickly and silently into the shelter of a cluster of hemlocks.

After a space the dip of oars lightly broke the stillness of the night, and soon a row-boat pulled quietly into view, with one dark figure outlined against the gleam of the moonlit water.  Evelyn caught a smothered sound from Jeff, whether of recognition or of displeasure she could not tell.  She felt her own pulses throbbing with excitement and anxiety.