But there was little or nothing to be learned concerning it more than he already knew. It had passed through Schooley’s without stopping, and the operator there had observed nothing wrong with it. After half an hour’s inquiry, Allan gave it up, ordered another crew sent out from Wadsworth, and finally, after reporting the occurrence to Stanley, turned in at his own gate about midnight, very tired and not a little worried.
As he entered the house, he was surprised to see a light burning in the dining-room, and he opened the door softly and looked in. For a moment, he saw no one, and thinking that the room was empty and that the light had simply been left burning for him, he was about to turn it out, when his eyes fell upon a figure curled up on the lounge which stood against the wall under the windows.
“Why, it’s Mamie!” he said, half to himself, and took a step toward her. “I wonder—”
And then he stopped suddenly, for, awakened by the noise of his entrance or by the consciousness of his presence, she opened her eyes and looked at him.
For a moment, she lay so, looking up, her lips parted in a smile. Then, with a quick movement, she brushed her hand over her eyes and sat upright, her cheeks crimson with a strange confusion.
“Why, Allan!” she cried. “Do you know, I—I must have been asleep!”
“Yes,” he agreed, laughing. “I don’t think there’s any doubt of it. Since when have you taken to sleeping on this lounge?”
“I wasn’t at all sleepy to-night,” Mamie explained, “and I knew it wasn’t any use to go to bed, so I thought I’d read awhile till I got sleepy or till you—till you—”
“Or till I got home,” said Allan, finishing the sentence for her. “Admit, Mamie, that you were sitting up for me!”
“Yes, I was!” confessed the girl, raising her eyes for one swift glance at him. “Dad came home and told about that horrid man trying to kill you, and I—I just couldn’t stand it to go to bed without seeing you.”