Then, rolling over on the rustling straw mattress, she reached for her sister’s hand. But ’Phemie was not there.
“’Phemie!” Lyddy cried loudly, sitting straight up in bed. She knew she was alone in the room, and hopped out of bed, shivering. She groped for her robe and her slippers. Then she sped swiftly into the kitchen.
She knew where the lamp and the match-box were. Quickly she had the lamp a-light and then swept the big room with a startled glance.
’Phemie had disappeared. The outside door was still locked. It seemed to Lyddy as though the echoing slam of the door that had awakened her was still ringing in her ears.
She ran to the hall door and opened it. Dark–and not a sound!
Where could ’Phemie have gone?
The older sister had never known ’Phemie to walk in her sleep. She had no tricks of somnambulism that Lyddy knew anything about.
And yet the older Bray girl was quite sure her sister had come this way. The lamplight, when the door was opened wide, illuminated the square hall quite well. Lyddy ran across it and pushed open the door of the long corridor.
There was no light in it, yet she could see outlined the huge pieces of furniture, and the ugly chairs. And at the very moment she opened this door, the door at the far end was flung wide and a white figure plunged toward her.
“’Phemie!” screamed the older sister.