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.”

The figure lay apparently lifeless, but Bab knew now that the girl was still alive. Bab did not like to leave her, for what dreadful person might not stumble over the poor, unconscious girl? Yet how else could Bab get help?

At this moment Bab looked up and saw a number of lighted cigars in the garden near the White House. Evidently a group of men had come out on the lawn to smoke. As Bab ran forward she saw one of the men move away from the others. He was whistling softly, “Kathleen Mavourneen, the bright stars are shining.”

“Oh, Mr. Dillon!” cried Bab. “Poor Miss Moore has been dreadfully hurt and is lying unconscious out here on the grass. Won’t you please find Mr. Hamlin, or some one, to come to her aid?”

“Miss Moore!” exclaimed Peter Dillon in a shocked tone. “I wonder whom the girl could have been spying upon to have gotten herself into such trouble? But, Miss Thurston, you ought not to be out here. Come back with me to the reception rooms. I will get some one to look after Miss Moore at once. It is best to keep this affair as quiet as possible.”

“I can’t leave the poor girl alone,” Bab demurred. “So please find Mr. Hamlin as soon as you can. I will ask two of these other men to take Miss Moore up on a side porch, out of the way of the guests.”

The rest of the group of men now came forward; their uniforms showed they were young Army and Navy officers. One of them was Lieutenant Elmer Wilson.

“What a dreadful thing!” he exclaimed, as he and another officer, under Bab’s directions, picked up Marjorie Moore’s limp form and carried it into the light. “Some one has struck Miss Moore over the temple with a stick. She has a nasty bruise just there. But she is only stunned. She will come to herself presently.”

Mr. Hamlin now hurried out with Peter Dillon, followed by Ruth and Harriet.

“Find our automobile; have it brought as near as possible. We must put the poor girl into it,” Mr. Hamlin declared authoritatively. “Mr. Dillon is right. This affair must be kept an entire secret. It is incredible! Above all things, the newspapers must not get hold of it. It would be a nine days’ wonder! Mr. Dillon, will you go to Miss Moore’s paper? Say you feel sure the President himself would not wish this story to be published. Then you can find out where Miss Moore’s mother lives, and see that she is told. The girl is not seriously injured, but she must be seen by a physician.”

“But you are not going to take Marjorie Moore to our house, Father,” Harriet protested. “She is so ­” Harriet checked herself just in time. She realized it would not be well to express her feeling toward the injured girl before so large a group of listeners.

“I most certainly do intend to take Miss Moore to our house,” interrupted Mr. Hamlin sternly. “Her father was an old friend of mine whom changes in politics made poor just before his death. His daughter is a brave girl. I have a great respect for her.”

In the excitement of helping their wounded visitor to bed, Barbara forgot all about Mollie’s wonderful gown, and the questions she intended asking her. Bab and Ruth undressed Marjorie Moore, and stayed with her until the doctor and a nurse arrived. Then Bab went quickly to her own room and undressed by a dim light, so as not to disturb her sister. Mollie’s face was turned toward the wall and she seemed to be fast asleep. There was no sign of the blue gown about to reawaken Bab’s curiosity. Barbara was too weary from the many impressions of the evening and the fright that succeeded them, and hurriedly undressing she crept quietly to bed and was soon fast asleep.