CHAPTER XIV
"Don't be frightened," said a voice in the deep dark of the summer-house. "I'm not a burglar. I'll strike a light."
There was the scratch and spurt of a match, by whose light the girls saw vaguely the figure of a man rising from one of the wicker-chairs.
"But if you're not burglars what are you doing here?" It was Jane who spoke.
"Sheltering from the rain. I am so very sorry if I startled you," said the intruder, striking another match.
"But why here?"
"It seemed convenient. I see now I had no right, but who could have thought that you would come here through the wild night and the rain?"
"But who are you?" Jane persisted.
Suddenly Lucilla said, "Why, of course, it's Mr. Dix!"
"Yes," said the stranger, "I am that wretched outcast."
"Of course you are," said Jane. And then she and Lucilla first became aware that ever since the first squeak of the basket-chair they had been clinging to each other, as people do in romances, clutching each other's arms and keeping very close together. Their clasp now relaxed.
"But how" Lucilla was beginning, but Jane stopped her.
"Not here," she said, "Mr. Dix can probably climb the wall somewhere and pick up our key. He can explain all about everything afterwards."
"Where is your key?" asked the voice in the dark. And
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