A light was descending the stairs and Mrs. Dove was behind it. She stood on the step in her starched white night-dress, holding a candle high above her curl-papers.
“Murder!” I sobbed, and threw myself at her feet.
“Why, dearie,” said Mrs. Dove, “I didn’t hear nothing.”
CHAPTER XVII
DAWN
Four by the clock.
Four by the clock. And yet not day;
But the great world rolls and wheels away,
With its cities on land and its ships at sea,
Into the dawn that is to be.
Only the lamp in the anchored bark