The red lanterns burned faithfully until almost dawn, then smoked and went out, leaving an unpleasant odour that lasted until sunrise.  The rumble of a distant cart woke them, and they sat up, shamefacedly rubbing their eyes.

“Oh,” cried Juliet, conscience-stricken, “we went to sleep!  We went to sleep on duty!  How could we?”

“Dunno,” returned Romeo, with a frank yawn.  “Guess we were tired.  Anyhow, the machine is all right.”

When the milkman came in sight, they hailed him and purchased a quart of milk.  He was scarcely surprised to see them, for the Crosbys were widely known to be eccentric, and presently he drove on.  His query about the wrecked car had passed unnoticed.

“If you’ll stay here, Jule,” said Romeo, wiping his mouth, “I’ll go and get a team and some rope and we’ll get the car in.”

“Can’t I go too?”

“No, you stay here.  It’s bad enough to sleep at your post without deserting it.”

“You slept, too,” retorted Juliet, quickly on the defensive, “and I’m a girl.”

“Huh!” he sneered.  The claim of feminine privilege invariably disgusted him beyond words.

“Suppose people come by—­” Juliet faltered; “and—­ask—­questions.”

“Answer ’em,” advised Romeo, briefly.  “Tell ’em we’ve killed a man and are going to suffer for it.  We deserve to have everybody know it.”

But, fortunately for Juliet’s quicker sensibilities, no one passed by in the hour Romeo was gone.  He came from the nearest farm with an adequate number of assistants and such primitive machinery as was at hand.  The car was not badly damaged and was finally towed into the Crosbys’ barn.  Then they went into the house and composed a letter to Colonel Kent, but put off copying and sending it until they should be able to get black bordered stationery.

Two weeks later, clad in deepest mourning, the twins trudged into town.  At Colonel Kent’s there was no one in authority to receive them and their errand was of too much importance to be communicated to either physician or nurse.  Their own unopened letter lay on the library table, with many others.

Subdued and chastened in demeanour, they went to Madame Bernard’s and waited in funereal silence until Madame came down.

“How do you—­” she began, then stopped.  “Why, what is the matter?”

“We ran over him,” explained Romeo, suggestively inclining his head in the general direction of Kent’s.  “Don’t you remember?”

“And if he dies, we’ve killed him,” put in Juliet, sadly.

“We’ll be murderers if he dies,” Romeo continued, “and we ought to be hung.”

In spite of her own depression and deep anxiety, Madame saw how keenly the tragedy had affected the twins.  “Why, my dears!” she cried.  “Do you think for a minute that anybody in the world blames you?”

“We ought to be blamed,” Romeo returned, “because we did it.”

“But not on purpose—­you couldn’t help it.”