As the door of her room swung back on its hinges, the first thing her eyes fell upon was the flickering, smoking, chimneyless lamp standing on the low dresser; and even in her terror she wondered how it chanced that careful Glory had neglected to protect the light properly. The next object that met her gaze was Glory herself, leaning white and limp against the closet door, holding a battered, smoking pistol at arm's length from her.
"Glory, are you hurt?" she gasped.
"No!"
"But the gun—the shot——"
"No one's shot—only the lamp chimney! I aimed at the—the burglars under the bed, and shot off the lamp chimney," she panted, beginning to laugh hysterically, and tightening her grasp on the rusty gun.
"Where is the burglar?" Intrepidly she stooped and peered under the bed, half expecting to see the disturber of their peace still hiding there.
"In the closet,—-both of them!"
"Two?"
"Yes."
"Oh, Glory!"