“Then not to sleep, but you must go.”

The three passed down the moon-silvered road.  When they had reached Margaret’s door, Alice suddenly put an arm around her and kissed her.

“Go in as softly as you can, and to bed,” she whispered.

“What made you do that, Alice?” asked Annie in a small voice when the door had closed behind Margaret.

“I think I am beginning to love her,” whispered Alice.  “Now you know what we must do, Annie?”

“What?”

“We must both watch until dawn, until after that train to New York which stops here at three-thirty.  You must stand here and I will go to the other door.  Thank God, there are only two doors, and I don’t think she will try the windows because she won’t suspect our being here.  But I don’t trust her, poor thing.  She is desperate.  You stay here, Annie.  Sit down close to the door and—­you won’t be afraid?”

“Oh, no!”

“Of course, there is nothing to be afraid of,” said Alice.  “Now I will go to the other door.”

Annie sat there until the moon sank.  She did not feel in the least sleepy.  She sat there and counted up her joys of life and almost forgot poor Margaret who had trampled hers in the dust raised by her own feet of self-seeking.  Then came the whistle and roar of a train and Alice stole around the house.

“It is safe enough for us to go now,” said she.  “That was the last train.  Do you think you can get in your house without waking anybody?”

“There is no danger unless I wake grandmother.  She wakes very early of herself and she may not be asleep and her hearing is very quick.”

“What will she say?”

“I think I can manage her.”

“Well, we must hurry.  It is lucky that my room is away from the others or I should not be sure of getting there unsuspected.  Hurry, Annie.”

The two sped swiftly and noiselessly down the street, which was now very dark.  The village houses seemed rather awful with their dark windows like sightless eyes.  When they reached Annie’s house Alice gave her a swift kiss.  “Good-night,” she whispered.

“Alice.”

“Well, little Annie?”

“I am going to be married, to Mr. Von Rosen.”

Alice started ever so slightly.  “You are a lucky girl,” she whispered, “and he is a lucky man.”

Alice flickered out of sight down the street like a white moonbeam and Annie stole into the house.  She dared not lock the door behind her lest she arouse somebody.  She tip-toed upstairs, but as she was passing her grandmother’s door, it was opened, and the old woman stood there, her face lit by her flaring candle.

“You just march right in here,” said she so loud that Annie shuddered for fear she would arouse the whole house.  She followed her grandmother into her room and the old woman turned and looked at her, and her face was white.

“Where have you been, Miss?” said she.  “It is after three o’clock in the morning.”