Kathryn von Wellering had been right in her prophecy. It was indeed a dark night. The clouds had gathered in denseness through the late hours of the afternoon and a chilling wet wind swept from the sea.

Miss Torrence hesitated about going to the faculty meeting. Her mother was not well. She had not been strong enough to get about since the winter set in, and of late she seemed weaker than usual.

“I wouldn’t leave you tonight, little mother,” the young teacher said, “if it were not that a very important matter is to be discussed. I’ll leave a low light burning in my study; one nearer than that might keep you awake, and I do want you to sleep and then you will not miss me.”

“It’s all right, daughter. Don’t mind me. I’ll just lie here and remember pleasant things that happened in the long ago. I’m not afraid.”

Miss Torrence leaned over the bed and kissed the sweet face of the little old lady that looked up at her wistfully from under a beribboned night cap. “Be sure to take your umbrella and wear your rubbers.”

The young teacher smiled as she went out. Ever since she was a small girl starting to kindergarten, this thoughtful mother had asked, “Are you sure you have a clean handkerchief, daughter?”

The wind caught at the umbrella the moment it was raised, just beyond the shelter of the grove, and it had to be closed again, but, although there was a fine mist-like snow in the air, it was not wet enough to drench her. Gathering the flying folds of her cloak closely about her, Miss Torrence hastened to the basement entrance of the school, and soon appeared in the upper corridor and went at once toward the door of the principal’s office. Two girls stood in front of the blackboard on which was written in big white letters, “Honor Roll.”

“Good evening, Miss Torrence.” One of them spoke in an unusually friendly manner.

“Good evening, Kathryn,” was the kindly given reply. “Are you and Anne searching for your names? She who will, can be on the Honor Roll, you know.”

“Oh, no indeed! We weren’t expecting to be on it. We were rather surprised, though, to find that Barbara Wente’s name is here.”

“It was put up today. I am so glad.” The young teacher smiled again and entered the office from which, when the door was momentarily open, the girls could hear the hum of voices.

“It’s going to be a long session, I’m thinking,” Kathryn said in a low voice. “Now that we are sure that Miss Torrence is here, let’s go at once to Pine Cabin.”

Anne Petersen hesitated. She lifted her hand at that moment to adjust her hair and the glint of the blue stones caught her eyes.

“Very well, lead the way,” was what she said.

Kathryn went upstairs to her room and Anne accompanied her. Earlier in the evening she had left there her warm cloak and tam. “Wait until we are sure the games are started in the gym,” Kathryn warned, “then, with the teachers all occupied, we can slip out of the side door without attracting attention.”

This was indeed easily accomplished, and they were soon breasting the wet cold wind that swept in from the sea.

As they neared the Pine Cabin Kathryn whispered: “There’s a low light burning in the study. That’s good for us. We can see at once where the papers are and we won’t stumble over things.”

“I hope the old lady is asleep,” said Anne. “I heard Miss Torrence say only last week that her mother is so frail now that she has to carry her from the chair she sits in all day to bed at night.”

“What do I care about her? Be quiet, will you? I’ll lift the window and we will have no trouble stepping in from this porch ledge.”

Kathryn was right. The lock to the window had been broken and as Miss Torrence had no fear of thieves, she had not called the gardener to repair it. The window creaked slightly as it was lifted, and the girls waited, listening breathlessly, before they stepped inside.

They were not the only ones who heard it. The little old lady in the adjoining room had also heard.

“Daughter, is that you? Have you come back?” a tremulous voice called.

Anne darted a quick look at her companion, and motioned her to be absolutely quiet. The little old lady sank back on her pillow believing the sound to have been caused by the rising wind. When the voice was not heard again, Kathryn began to search through the desk. The bundle of manuscripts that she had seen, when she had that afternoon returned a book to Miss Torrence, was not in evidence.

In her impatience she was not as quiet as she might have been. “You’ll frighten the little old lady,” Anne Petersen whispered.

“What do I care. She can’t walk! She’ll never be able to tell who was here,” was Kathryn’s cold reply.

Anne’s glance at her friend was scornful. “Do you mean to tell me, Kathryn Von Wellering, that you don’t care whether you frighten that little old lady to death or not? You’d sneak away, would you, and leave her all alone here unable to get up and terrorized for the long hour before her daughter gets back?”

Luckily the moaning of the wind made it impossible for the little old lady to hear this whispered conversation.

Kathryn’s lips curled, but before she could reply, her searching eyes discovered the manuscripts tied in a neat bundle. They were ready to be given to Virginia on the morrow. Seizing them, the girl climbed through the window, upsetting, as she did so, a flower pot that was on the sill. It fell to the floor with a crash.

At that moment they heard a pitiful, frightened cry from the room occupied by the frail, elderly mother of Miss Torrence.

Anne Petersen turned, her eyes flashing. “Kathryn Von Wellering,” she said, “I’m going back there and comfort that poor little old lady. I have a grandmother of my own at home and I wouldn’t want her to be treated in this way. You are the most heartless girl I have ever known. Here, take your bracelet; take it or I’ll throw it in the snow.”

Kathryn caught the arm of the other and tried to drag her toward the school, but Anne shook herself free. “Coward,” she said, “all you are afraid of is that I’ll squeal on you. Don’t you worry. I won’t. And don’t you ever speak to me again. I’m through.”

Turning, she walked around to the front of the cabin and entered the door. She heard the pitiful sobbing of the little old lady.

“Mrs. Torrence,” she called reassuringly, “don’t be frightened. It’s just one of the girls from the school. I—I had a sort of a headache, and I—I came out to let the cool night air—” For the first time in her fifteen years Anne felt a scorn for lying. She wished she could tell the truth, but she couldn’t. She had promised Kathryn she wouldn’t squeal.

“Who is it? Which one of the girls, and what was it fell?” came the faint voice, but Anne noted with relief that the fear was gone.

She walked to the door of the bedroom and switched on the light. “I’m Anne Petersen,” she said. “You haven’t seen me before. I haven’t been over to Pine Cabin, but I heard you call out and so I came in.”

“Well, it was ever so nice of you, my dear. My daughter never will lock the doors. She says there is no one who wants to come in, for harm, and I suppose she is right. I thought I heard something fall in the house, but like as not it was something just outside that the wind blew down.”

It was plain that the little old lady was trying to assure herself that all was well, but as Anne went nearer she could see that she was shivering. “You’re cold, aren’t you?” she asked kindly.

“Yes, I tried to get up but I couldn’t.”

“Well, I’ll cover you more, then I’ll make you a warm drink. I’m going to stay with you till Miss Torrence comes.” The girl had made this sudden decision. She knew that, brave as the little old lady was trying to be, she had been greatly frightened.

A frail hand reached out and a grateful glance assured the girl that she was right.

“Oh, how kind you are! I’ll tell my daughter. She’ll be so pleased. Somehow she didn’t want to leave me alone tonight. The wind makes me lonesome-like, when she’s gone.”

“I know. It makes me lonesome sometimes, too, for my mother. She didn’t live many years after I came. Grandmother brought me up and she tried to teach me to be good—but—I guess I’ve failed.”

The frail hand patted the arm of the girl. “Dearie, how can you say that when you’re being so kind to me? I wish all girls were as good and as thoughtful of old folks as you are.”

Anne hurried to the kitchen. She could not understand why tears had come. She lighted the fire, and, finding there a pan of broth, she heated it. Then lifting the little old lady she gave it to her. A few moments later a clock in the study struck eight. “I think I’ll go now,” Anne said, rising. “Miss Torrence will be here directly.”

“Of course, dear girl, go right along. That warm broth has made me so sleepy I’ll be drowsing when daughter gets here. Promise you’ll come and see me again. Next to Virginia Davis I like you best of any of the girls.”

“I promise,” Anne said as she kissed the little old lady, who was so like her own grandmother. Then she slipped away.

Miss Torrence had to bend her head to battle through the snowstorm that was beating down upon the campus when she emerged from the basement door and so it was, when she entered the little grove, that she did not see a dark figure standing close to a tree trunk and almost hidden by low growth of pines.

Nor did she enter her mother’s room, for the even, quiet breathing assured her that the little old lady was fast asleep.

Miss Torrence was unusually tired and so she turned out the low light in the den without glancing around. It was not until the next morning, while she and her mother were at breakfast, that she heard the story of a visitor.

“I don’t recollect what her name was, daughter, but she was the nicest, kindest girl. I’m sure she must be one of your favorites up at the school. Something had frightened me. I don’t like to tell it, being as you say I fancy things, but I did think that I heard the window open in your study and then, by and by, something fell, crash, but pretty soon this nice girl came and told me the wind outside was blowing things around pretty much.”

Miss Torrence looked both troubled and puzzled. She knew what her mother did not, that the pupils of Vine Haven Seminary were not permitted to leave the school after dark, and surely no one would choose a wet, cold, blustery night to take a walk on the ocean cliff.

As soon as she had her mother settled in a comfortable chair in the bow window, where boxes of ferns and flowers were growing, and a canary in a cage sang cheerily, Miss Torrence went at once to her den. Her first glance revealed the fallen flower pot; her second the rummaged desk. At that moment there came a rapping on the front door and the young teacher hastened into the living room, troubled and perplexed, to answer the summons.