They passed out of hearing again—out of the dark into the lighted end of the walk, and did not return.
Reginald and Rose waited for a quarter of an hour, but they had disappeared as suddenly as they had appeared.
"Take me in," reiterated Rose, shivering. "I am nearly frozen."
He turned with her up the walk, never speaking a word, very pale in the light of the stars. No one was visible as they left the walk; all around the house and grounds was hushed and still. The house door was locked, but not bolted. Mr. Stanford opened it with a night-key, and they entered, and went upstairs, still in silence. Rose reached her room first, and paused with her hand on the handle of the door.
"Good-night," she said shyly and wistfully.
"Good-night," he answered, briefly, and was gone.
CHAPTER XI.
ONE MYSTERY CLEARED UP.
The fire burned low in Rose's pretty room, and the lamp was dim on the table. The window-curtains were closed, and the sheets of the little low, white bed turned down, the easy chair was before the hearth, and everything was the picture of comfort. She flung off her wrappings on the carpet, and sat down in the easy chair, and looked into the glowing cinders, lost in perplexed thought.