Bab found the portico deserted.  There was no one in sight.

Down on the lawn, some distance ahead, she thought she saw a figure moving.  Barbara drew her chiffon scarf more closely over her shoulders and ran quickly out into the garden without thinking.  It was, of course, Marjorie Moore ahead of her.  But Bab had not gone far, when the figure disappeared, and she realized her own foolishness.  She must get back into the White House in a hurry before any one found out what she had done.

It was exceedingly dark out on the lawn in contrast with the brilliant illumination of the house, and Barbara was running swiftly.  She had begun to wonder what explanation she could make if Harriet or Mr. Hamlin asked where she had been.  As usual, Barbara was repenting a rash impulse too late.  She ran obliquely across the yard in order to return in a greater hurry.  Between a clump of bushes set at some distance apart her feet struck against something soft and heavy and Bab pitched forward across the object.

CHAPTER IX

BAB’S DISCOVERY

Then Barbara Thurston’s heart turned sick with horror.  She recognized, in the same instant, that she had fallen over a human body.  In getting back on her own feet, Bab was obliged to touch the figure over which she had fallen.  She shuddered with fright.  It could not be possible that any one had been murdered in the grounds of the White House, while a great ball was being given on the inside.  Had Marjorie Moore expected foul play and called on Bab to help her guard some one from harm?

Barbara did not know what to do—­to go on with her search for the newspaper girl, or go back to the White House and raise an alarm.

Bab was standing up, but she dared not look at the figure at her feet.  She was now more accustomed to the darkness and she did not know what one glance might reveal.

“What a coward I am!” Bab thought.  Trembling, she put out her hand and touched the body.  It was warm, but the figure had fallen forward on its face.  As Bab’s hand slipped along over the object that lay so still on the hard ground, an even greater horror seized her.  Her hand had come in contact with a skirt.  The figure was that of a woman!

Barbara dropped on her knees beside the figure.  She gently turned the body over until it was face upward.  One long stare at the face was enough.  The woman who lay there was the young newspaper girl who had summoned Bab to follow her but a short time before.  She still had on her shabby evening dress.  The pad and pencil with which she took down her society items lay at her side.  But Marjorie Moore’s face was pale as death.

Bab’s tears dropped down on the girl’s face.  “My dear Miss Moore, what has happened?  Can’t you hear me?” Bab faltered.  “It is Barbara Thurston!  I tried to come to help you, but I could not get here until now.”