sleep when she was left alone. She felt as if she had never been quite so hungry before.
"I wish I was as thin as you, Sara," Ermengarde said suddenly. "I believe you are thinner than you used to be. Your eyes look so big, and look at the sharp little bones sticking out of your elbow!"
Sara pulled down her sleeve, which had pushed itself up. "I always was a thin child," she said bravely, "and I always had big green eyes."
"I love your queer eyes," said Ermengarde, looking into them with affectionate admiration. "They always look as if they saw such a long way. I love them—and I love them to be green—though they look black generally."
"They are cat's eyes," laughed Sara; "but I can't see in the dark with them—because I have tried, and I could n't—I wish I could."
It was just at this minute that something happened at the skylight which neither of them saw. If either of them had chanced to turn and look, she would have been startled by the sight of a dark face which peered cautiously into the room and disappeared as quickly and almost as silently as it had appeared. Not quite as silently, however. Sara, who had keen ears, suddenly turned a little and looked up at the roof.
"That did n't sound like Melchisedec," she said. "It was n't scratchy enough."
"What?" said Ermengarde, a little startled.
"Did n't you think you heard something?" asked Sara.
