Page:Frank Packard - Greater Love Hath No Man.djvu/214



T was late evening, in one of the small frame cottages, the home of one of the guard's, where Janet had been taken after the fire. A tall glass lamp, with a paper shade of many colours, stood on the red plush cloth of the parlour table. In one corner of the room was the organ; rockers and stiff wooden arm-chairs, each with its spotless white tidy, were ranged with military precision at strategic points upon the blue-and-white wool carpet; on the walls hung the crayon family portraits, interspersed with framed, coloured prints of Washington and the battles of Lexington and Bunker Hill.

On the horse-hair sofa, with its back of severe and uncompromising design, Janet Rand was busy with some needlework. She raised her head suddenly as the doorbell rang.

"You had better go, dad," she said. "Mrs. Woods has gone to bed, and it is probably for us anyway at this hour."

Warden Rand glanced at his watch.

"Why, it's already after ten!" he said in surprise. "I had no idea it was so late. It's time you were in bed, too." He laid his paper on the table, got up, and went out into the little hallway.

Listening, Janet heard the door opened, and as she caught the sound of a voice, rose quickly to her feet.