"We shall find out," returned Lindsay confidently. "I have a kind of feeling that something is going to happen to-night."
"What are you two whispering about?" asked Nora Proctor curiously.
"Oh, only a joke of our own!"
"You've got some secret, I'm sure," said Beryl Austen; "you're always looking at each other and making signs. I noticed you yesterday during arithmetic."
"Do tell us, Cicely," begged Marjorie Butler. "You and I used to be friends, but we never have a secret together now."
"There's really nothing worth telling," declared Cicely, much embarrassed.
"We shall have to be careful though," said Lindsay afterwards. "We don't want the others to hear, and then go poking about and making discoveries."
"Certainly not; if there's anything to be found out, I'd rather we found it out ourselves."
Cicely was tired when bedtime arrived, and ready to curl herself up and forget what might be happening outside. Lindsay, on the contrary, lay with wide-open eyes, watching the room grow darker and darker. When the wardrobe and the chest of drawers and the washstand had at last all merged together into one deep mass of shadow, she got up and peeped through the open window. What she saw there caused her to run hurriedly and shake her sleepy companion.
"Cicely! Do wake up! There's a light moving in the garden."