"I say," said Lucilla, "you might strike a light. Of course I know there's no one here but us; only—suppose the burglar hadn't bolted home to his burrow? Suppose he'd just taken shelter here like us?"
"Don't be silly," said Jane, but she felt in her pocket for the matches. "Don't be silly," she repeated; "and I haven't got the matches, you had them."
"I didn't," said Lucilla. "Oh, Jane—I heard something move over here at the back! I'm certain there's something here—no, don't stop me. I'm going out again; I don't care how it rains"
"Don't be a duffer," said Jane, holding her. "There's no one here but us."
"Don't hold me!" repeated Lucilla, struggling. "I will go!"
And then, in the black darkness at the far side of the summer-house, something moved—and out of the black silence something shuffled. A wicker-chair squeaked.
"I told you so!" cried Lucilla. "There is someone there!"
And there was.
