Everything was very silent.

The front part of the house seemed dark and deserted, so Anne slipped round to the side door, which opened from the veranda into a little sitting room.

There she halted noiselessly.
The door was open.

Beyond, in the dimly lighted room, sat Leslie Moore, with her arms flung out on the table and her head bent upon them.

She was weeping horribly--with low, fierce, choking sobs, as if some agony in her soul were trying to tear itself out.