The window was shortly after opened, and a rope ladder, with a lighted horn lantern attached to it, let down. Aunt and niece regarded each other silently. But don't thank me; thank Miss Enschede. It had been her home for hundreds of years. That dress she has on—my mother might have worn it. “Veronica!” cried Miss Stanley, warningly, and, “Peter!” For a moment they seemed on the verge of an altogether desperate scuffle.
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