THE OLD HOUSE BALCONY.
“We had better tell him,” I suggested.
“Oh no,” said Aunt Di, holding me back.
“But we must have somebody with us if we are going any farther to-night, aunt, and he is the best person.—Mr. Hoffman, did you enjoy the sail?”
“I did not go,” answered John, looking somewhat surprised to see us confronting him at that hour, like the three witches of Macbeth. Aunt Di was disheveled, and so was I, while Sara’s golden hair was tumbling about her shoulders under the hat she had hastily tied on.
“Have you been out all the evening?” asked Aunt Di, suspiciously.
“I went to my room an hour ago, but the night was so beautiful I slipped down the back stairs, so as to not disturb the household, and came out again to walk on the sea-wall.”
“Sara did hear him go up to his room: she knows his step, then,” I thought. But I could not stop to ponder over this discovery. “Mr. Hoffman,” I said, “you find us in some perplexity. Miss Carew is out loitering somewhere, in the moonlight, and, like the heedless child she is, has forgotten the hour. We are looking for her, but have no idea where she has gone.”
“Probably the demi-lune,” suggested John. Then, catching the ominous expression of Aunt Diana’s face, he added, “They have all gone out to the Rose Garden by moonlight, I think.”
“All?”