As she gazed, he crossed the room and stood in front of the fire, his eyes raised to the great picture. Suddenly he leaned forward and took one of the red roses from the jar.
"He is even stealing the roses," thought Anne, indignantly, but then, what could you expect of a man who would carry off boxes of candy and thimbles and kittens?
She was sure it was the Durant burglar, and she dropped to the floor cautiously, and crouched there. Outside she could still hear the whine of the dog, but she had no thought of going to him now—she could not pass that silent figure on the rug.
Then, all at once, she thought of Judy. She was in the library, and there was just one room between her and the burglar!
Anne wasn't brave, and never had been, but in that moment she forgot herself, forgot everything but that Judy was not well and must not be frightened at any cost. Judy must not see the burglar.
As the man moved across the hall Anne staggered to her feet, feeling along the wall for the electric button, and then suddenly the lights flared up, and the little girl, a desperate pink figure clinging to the stair-rail, looked down into the upraised face of the man below.
"Don't," she said, with white lips, "don't—go—in—there—"
As she stared at him in a blur of fright she was conscious of wondering if all burglars looked so gentlemanly—if—why, where had she seen his face?
"Judy," breathed the man, and his whisper seemed to thunder in her ears as he came up the stairway two steps at a time.
Anne gave a little scream, half fright, half delight.