The gentlemen seemed full of a cheerful courage, the ladies calm and hopeful.  Yet they refused to retire, though strongly urged to do so, insisting that to sleep would be simply impossible.

It was but ten o’clock when all was ready, yet the young men deemed it most prudent to betake themselves at once to their outlook, since there might possibly have been some change in the plans of the enemy.

The others gathered in one of the lower rooms to while away the tedious time of waiting as best they could.  Conversation flagged; they tried music, but it had lost its charms for the time being; they turned away from the piano and harp and sank into silence; the house seemed strangely silent, and the pattering of Bruno’s feet as he passed slowly down the whole length of the corridor without, came to their ears with almost startling distinctness.

Then he appeared in the doorway, where he stood turning his eyes from one to another with a wistful, questioning gaze:  then words seemed to come from his lips in tones of wonder and inquiry.

“What are you all doing here at this time o’ night, when honest folk should be a-bed?”

“Just what I’ve been asking myself for the last hour,” gravely remarked a statue in a niche in the opposite wall.

The effect was startling even to those who understood the thing; more so to the others, Rosie screamed and ran to her father for protection.

“Why, why, why!” cried old Mr. Dinsmore, in momentary perplexity and astonishment.

“Don’t be afraid Miss Rosie; I’m a faithful friend, and the woman over there couldn’t hurt you if she would,” said Bruno, going up to the young girl, wagging his tail and touching his cold nose to her hand.

She drew it away with another scream.

“Dear child,” said her sister, “it is only a trick of ventriloquism.”

“Meant to amuse, not alarm,” added Mr. Lilburn.

Rosie, nestling in her father’s arms, drew a long breath of relief, and half laughing, half crying, looked up saucily into Mr. Lilburn’s face.

“And it was you, sir? oh, how you scared me!”

“I beg your pardon, my bonnie lassie,” he said, “I thought to relieve, somewhat, the tediousness of the hour.”

“For which accept our thanks,” said Mr. Dinsmore.  “But I perceive it is not the first time that Travilla and Elsie have been witnesses of your skill.”

“No,” said Elsie, laughing.  “My dear, you are good at a story, tell them what happened at breakfast this morning.”

Mr. Travilla complied with the request.  He was an excellent story-teller and made his narrative very entertaining.

But in the midst of their mirth a sudden awe-struck silence fell upon them.  There was a sound as of the rattling of stiffly starched robes; then a gruff voice from the hall exclaimed, “There he is, the old scalawag!  Dinsmore too.  Now take good aim, Bill, and let’s make sure work.”