At four o'clock the next morning Mrs. Tweedie was awakened by the ringing of the door-bell. She sat up in bed and listened until it rang again.

"Ezra," she whispered, as she shook her sleeping husband.

"What's the matter?" asked Ezra, sleepily.

"Some one is ringing the door-bell."

"Who is it?" he yawned.

"How should I know? Get up and see."

Ezra crawled out of bed, lighted a lamp, put on his dressing-gown, and started down-stairs. When he had gone Mrs. Tweedie got up, put on her glasses, lighted a match, peered at the clock, and then muttered, "Disgraceful!"

Ezra asked, "Who is it?" before opening the door, and when he recognized the voice that replied nearly dropped the lamp so great was his astonishment.

"Miss Wallace!" he gasped, as he opened the door.

"I am sorry that I had to disturb you, Mr. Tweedie," was all that Barbara said as she hurried past him. Ezra closed and locked the door, went up-stairs, looked at the clock and then at his wife.

"Where has she been?" he asked, as he blew out the light, and got into bed.

"What does it matter where she has been?" replied Mrs. Tweedie. "Is it not enough that she has been out until four o'clock in the morning?" Ezra certainly thought it strange, but did not venture to offer any excuses. "And to think," continued Mrs. Tweedie, "after all that we have done for her (and Barbara had paid for), that she should bring disgrace to our home in this manner!"

"But, my dear," replied Mr. Tweedie, soothingly, "perhaps there is some good reason."

"Impossible!" snapped his wife. Ezra gave it up and went to sleep, but Mrs. Tweedie spent the remainder of the night thinking dreadful things, and the most exasperating thought was that she did not know—she could only imagine.

The explanation or true story of the events of that night (escapade it was called afterward by many) was simple, though none the less important to those most concerned. Barbara had been invited by Will Flint to go on a sleigh-ride. She was ready at the appointed time, and, hearing him drive up and stop, had gone out before he came to the door without telling Mrs. Tweedie where she was going. Mrs. Tweedie considered this omission a suspicious circumstance. She sat up until eleven o'clock, and then, being determined to know at what time Barbara returned, locked the door so that it could not be opened with a latch-key, and went to bed.

Will and Barbara chatted cheerfully as they drove away from the village into the real country where they were alone with the black forest, the fields of glistening snow, and the great white moon. Will was happy, and Barbara—at first she had regretted her promise to go, but after an hour had gone by a feeling of contentment and security stole over her, and she too was happy.

They had turned toward home and were going down a hill at a rapid gait when one of the runners of the sleigh slipped into an icy rut, and the borrowed, dilapidated affair collapsed. Nothing was injured except the sleigh, but they were ten miles from home, and not a house in sight. After Will had crawled out of the wreck, and helped Barbara to disentangle herself, he unhitched the horse and drew the remains of the sleigh to the side of the road. There was nothing for them to do except walk, so they started off with the horse led behind. The nearest house was three miles, but Barbara and Will did not know when they passed it, or the next, and would not have stopped if they had. Their thoughts were of each other and the future, as they walked, hand in hand, along the white road that gleamed in the moonlight, and stretched away into— Only Barbara and Will, and the tired old horse plodding along behind, knew just what was said during that walk, but when they arrived at Mrs. Tweedie's gate Barbara had a man's love in her keeping, and Will had the promise of an answer when he had won it.

At breakfast that morning Barbara told that part of the story necessary to explain the hour at which she had returned. Fanny thought it must have been a great lark, and Mr. Tweedie and Tommy agreed with her, but Mrs. Tweedie looked sour and incredulous.

Later in the day Mrs. Tweedie learned that Will Flint had left town early that morning. Here was a mystery, she thought, and she did not rest until the whole story, or all that she could gather and imagine of it, was tucked away in her head with all the rest of her false ideas and ideals. In collecting the details she had found it necessary to barter news for news, and when she had finished her calls, all Manville knew that Barbara Wallace and Will Flint had been on a sleigh-ride the night before, and had not returned until four o'clock that morning.

Poor Barbara, she anticipated disagreeable talk, but thoughts of those hours of the night before, and the earnest love of a strong man, soon drove away her fears. He had gone, but for her sake, and when he returned she knew what her answer would be.