Twonette slept in a corner of the arbor, her flaxen head embowered in a cluster of leaves and illumined by a stray beam of moonlight that stole between the vines.
"I am going in now.

Come, Twonette," said Yolanda, shaking that plump young lady to arouse her.

"Come, Twonette." Twonette slowly opened her big blue eyes, but she was slower in awakening.
"Twonette! Twonette!" cried Yolanda, pulling at the girl's hand.

"I declare, if you don't resist this growing drowsiness you will go down in history as the 'Eighth Sleeper,' and will be left snoring on resurrection morn." When Twonette had awakened sufficiently to walk, we started from the arbor to the house.

As we passed from beneath the vines, the frowning wall of the castle and the dark forms of its huge towers, silhouetted in black against the moon-lit sky, formed a picture of fierce and sombre gloom not soon to be forgotten.
"The dark, frowning castle reminds one of its terrible lord," said Max, looking up at the battlements.
"It does, indeed," answered Yolanda, hardly above a whisper.