But his brain would not sleep, and the longer he lay and the more he tossed and turned, the wearier he grew.
Sleep seemed so impossible that he was half inclined to get up and dress and go out.

The cool night air and the freshness of the dawn would be better than this sleepless unresting.

Suddenly there came a sharp little tap on his window.
A bird, he thought, or a bat.
The tap came again--sharp and imperative.
He got up quietly and went to the window.

The night was still dark.

As he peered into it a hand came up again and tapped once more and he opened the window.
"Mr.Gard!"-- in a sharp whisper.
"Nance! What is it, dear?
Anything wrong ?" "I want you--quick." "One minute!" and he hastily threw on his things and joined her outside.
"What is it, Nance ?" he asked anxiously, wondering what new complication had arisen.
"I'll tell you as we go.