"Ruth may be lying dead there." Hesitating under the horror of this thought, she held on to the gate unable to go in or move away.
"Are you afraid?" she said to Mrs. Hipple.
"Afraid? No. Why should I be?"
"Ah, you have not been told, and I have no time; come."
Lady Rose swung the gate inward, went into the porch, and tried the door. It was not fastened. She pushed it open and entered the little parlor. The light was dim, but her quick glance searched the room—the table where Ruth worked, the chintz couch, the one great easy-chair.
"Not here! not here!" she cried. "Wait till I come."
She ran up-stairs into each chamber, calling out:
"Ruth! Ruth! Do not hide, Ruth. It is I, Lady Rose."
No answer; nothing but twilight darkness and the shadowy furniture. Down the stairs she went, through the kitchen, and out into the open air.
Mrs. Hipple followed her.