Perhaps Lucy simply could not sleep, she said to herself, and had gone
down to sit on the lower porch, or lie in one of the hammocks swinging
under the trees. The night was exceedingly warm, even the usual cooling
breath from the river being absent.
"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.
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