Paul could not help smiling.
“I suppose that’s a compliment,” he said. “Thank you. Now I must trouble you to go.”
“I’m going! Remember your promise!”
In an instant the burglar was out of the window, through which he had made his entrance, and disappeared from sight. Paul did not approach the window, lest his doing so should excite alarm in the rogue. When a sufficient time had elapsed he ran to the window, closed it, and once more breathed freely. The danger was passed, and he began now to feel the tension to which his nerves had been subjected.
“Has anything happened, Paul?” asked a voice. Turning, Paul saw Mrs. Cunningham at the door. She had thrown a wrapper over her, and, attracted by the sound of voices, had entered the library.
“Has any burglar been here?” she asked, nervously, observing Paul with the revolver in his hand.
“Yes,” answered the telegraph boy; “I have just bidden the gentleman good night.”
By this time Jennie, too, made her appearance. “What is it, mamma? What is it, Paul?” she asked. “Why are you standing there with the revolver in your hand?”
Paul told the story as briefly as the circumstances would admit.