followed her in in silence. They undressed quickly. The Atom said her prayers and got into bed. Nell knelt down, but no prayers would come. She knelt and cried into the counterpane.

After a while an austere voice smote upon her ear.

"Nell O'Brien, I'm thinkin' you're keepin' God up very late!"

Nell said a prayer—a somewhat incoherent one—and scrambled into bed.

An hour later she sat up and turned her pillow. She looked across at the little white bed that glimmered over by the window; then she burrowed her head despairingly down into the dry side of her pillow. The sight of it, as she had lifted it to turn it over, had brought to her mind the stout old rector at home. She remembered how Sheila Pat had once earnestly declared he was so nice to lean against—"just like a pillow." She quoted him beneath her breath, a humorous dimple denting her wet cheek.

"'Let us now consider our blessings—never mind the bad things. Let them go. Consider the good things. The bad things will have more than their share of our thoughts, you may be very sure!'" So Nell got her hands into position to tick off her blessings. "First, there's Denis." She paused; her slim body grew tense with sudden horror, as the thought gripped her: "Suppose Denis had gone, too!"

With an impulsiveness that was characteristic she slipped from the bed to the floor, seized up her dressing-gown, ran out on to the landing and upstairs to his room.

"Come in!"

She opened the door and was nearly blown backward down the stairs by the gale that met her.

Denis was sitting up in bed.

"You, old girl? Anything up?"

She stood in the doorway, her dressing-gown streaming out around her, her hair blowing across her face. She laughed uncertainly.

"Come out of that! Shut the door, you goose. And why on earth don't you furl your sails? Anything wrong with the Atom?"

She shut the door with slow care.

"No," she said; "she's pretending to be asleep."

There was a little pause. She buttoned up her dressing-gown slowly.

"You're not walking in your sleep, are you?" he suggested, with a little laugh. He swung himself off the bed and came towards her; he put his hands on her shoulders. "Now, twin, out with it! What did you come for, eh?"

She gave a little childish struggle under his warm hands; she looked up into his face.

"I had to, Denis! A dreadful conviction has come upon me that she'll give us soft-boiled eggs for breakfast!"

He swung her softly to and fro.

"Well, you needn't have come to give me nightmare just because you're going to have it! Was it the action of a twin, I ask?"

She laughed softly, irresistibly.

"Oh, oh, Denis, your floor's swamped! What will Aunt Kezia say?"

He turned his head lazily and surveyed the floor over by the window.

"It'll dry," he observed with equanimity.

She eyed the window, flung as wide as it would go.

"You mustn't have it so wide, Denis! You really mustn't!"

"D'you want to murder your twin? Why, I'd be dying of suffocation! There're roofs all round, Nell! Beastly houses stuck all on top of us—almost in our back yard! I can't get a breath of air even now!"

The toilet cover was wildly fluttering its corners; a towel had been blown from the towel horse and danced merrily in a corner; one curtain was streaming, a wet limp rag, out into the night, the other was whirling in graceful curves across the room; Denis's tie had twined itself round the leg of a chair.

She gave a little laugh.

"If you won't shut the window, I will! And," glancing down at her bare toes, "I don't feel the least bit inclined to paddle just now."

"Then don't."

"But you will shut it—"

"But I won't!"

She looked out into the darkness where the curtain waved forlornly.

"Seriously, Denis—"

"Seriously, Nell, it's in bed you ought to be, not to mention your poor twin!"

"You see, I've got a conscience."

"More noodle you! Go and sleep it off."

"Sure now, asthore, you'll not be refusin' your own twin?" she cooed.

"You're a beastly little humbug!"

He went across to the window and banged it down. The bang echoed startlingly in the night.

"Oh, Denis, you've shut the curtain out!"

"Eh? Oh, well, it can stay out."

A loud whisper hissed with disconcerting suddenness through the keyhole.

"Denis O'Brien, are you asleep?"

Nell turned to him with a little gasp.

"Denis, I—I can't stand any more of her to-night!" Her small fingers caught his arm with sudden desperation.

"Here, in you go!" He picked her up and deposited her in the bed. "Keep quiet," he said peremptorily.

He emitted a loud and very realistic yawn.

"Denis O'Brien!"

"Is it dreaming I am?" he observed in a sleepy voice.

"Apparently you are!" came the sharp retort through the keyhole.

"Is that you, Aunt Kezia?" he queried in a surprised voice. "Isn't it time you were in bed?"

"I wish to speak to you at once!"

"I'm here, close to the keyhole."

"Open the door!"

"Oh! Er—you know—my costume—rather primitive, you know—" His absurd air of coyness brought an irrepressible giggle from the bed.

"Please don't try to be funny! Unlock your door at once!"

"It's never locked at all." He opened it so suddenly that Miss Kezia nearly fell headlong into the room. He caught her in his arms. "Are you hurt? Sure? Well, what is it now? A mouse? Let me go and kill him!"

Miss Kezia had righted herself; she stood, candle in hand, glaring at him angrily. The light flickered over her gaunt face and weird night-cap, over the severe and scanty folds of her sombre dressing-gown.

"I heard a window closed," she began.

"Window? I say, Aunt Kezia, don't be nervous, but—er—don't London burglars generally open windows? Let's find a poker. I," quoth he, bravely, "will protect you."

"It—wasn't you?" Miss Kezia hesitated.

Apparently he did not hear. He was gently but firmly ejecting her from his room. Together they searched the house, but found no suggestion of a burglar. Miss