Mrs. Dunbar held her revolver in her right hand while Jennie unbolted the big heavy door.
"Let me go first!" Mrs. Dunbar ordered. "Jennie, flash the light ahead of us."
As the maid followed this order a small streak of light made a safe path out to the edge of the porch.
"There comes Michael," exclaimed Jennie, venturing out next, and no one could have misunderstood the note of relief in her voice.
Above them Cleo had climbed in the tree as quietly as the green limb, swaying under her light weight, permitted. Her flash light now was in the pocket of her pajamas, and as she mounted a strong branch and pulled herself nearer the tree trunk, she seemed scarcely more than some wild night bird seeking refuge.
She could now see Mary's face, and as it showed no expression of recognition she was confident the girl was sleeping. Crawling nearer with slow, sure moves, holding to small branches from overhead, and then balancing to the strong limb on which she sat and hitched herself along, Cleo paid no heed to the commotion under the tree.
She must first grasp the girl who sat so silently, her one arm wound around the light tree trunk, her head leaning against it in the most matter-of-fact attitude, almost caressing the gray button ball wood, while even in the dark those two dark braids of hair were tragically outlined against the white of her clinging night robe.
One more shift of her body and Cleo had her arm around Mary. With the other she held firmly to the tree.
"Quick!" she called now, realizing the mattresses were placed beneath them. "We may fall!"
As she spoke Mary shuddered, and gasped.