Cora ran to it, looked down, saw the figure on the ground beneath, and fired again, but not at the man.
With a cry the fellow jumped up, and as he hurried away Cora saw that he limped. She must have hit him!
In all this time she could not give a word to the three frightened girls who were screaming and shouting for help. Nettie had run down from the third floor, Belle was threatening to die, and Bess was doing her best to make the boys down at the bungalow hear her cries.
"Did you kill him?" gasped Belle, when Cora finally returned to the bedroom.
"No, indeed, but I guess I hurt him a little. He limped off rather unsteadily. I had no idea of hitting him, but just as I fired toward the window he darted into it. I could not help it. He should have surrendered."
Cora was as pale as death. Her black hair fell in a cloud about her shoulders. She sank into a chair and still held the smoking weapon.
"Put that down!" commanded Nettie.
"Not yet—he might come back," murmured Cora. "There is no reason for you to fear, it is not cocked," and she held up the revolver to prove her words.
"Oh, do put it down!" begged Belle.
"Seems to me you are more afraid of the revolver than of the burglar," remarked Cora. "Do you realize that a man has just jumped out of the window?"