"Mercy, child, what ails you?" exclaimed Mrs. Bracher. "You've all got the fidgets to-night."
"That string again," said the girl.
She rose from the piano, and went out into the night. They heard her footsteps on the road.
"Hilda, Hilda," called Scotch, loudly.
"Leave her alone, she is fey," said Mrs. Bracher. "I know her in these moods. You can't interfere. You must let her go."
"We can at least see where she goes," urged Scotch.
They followed her at a distance. She went swiftly up the road, and straight to the railway tracks. She entered the house, the dark, wrecked house, where from the second story window, a perpetual look-out was kept, like the watch of the Vestal Virgins. They came to the open door, and heard her ascend to the room of the vigil.
"You must come," they heard her say, "come at once."
"No, no," answered the voice of the Commandant, "I am on duty here. But you—what brings you here? You cannot stay. Go at once. I order you."
"I shall not go till you go," the girl replied in expressionless tones.