Seeing that further argument would be of no avail, Mrs. Hadley finally decided to go away and let the girls carry out their wishes. But she did not look any too content as she said goodbye.
Marjorie and Ethel bolted both doors on the inside, and made their way upstairs, laden with two flash-lights, some pillows, and a revolver. Since there were no shades at the windows, they did not turn on the light, but crept into their cots after removing only their shoes.
“My brother is the most sensible one of the bunch,” observed Marjorie, as she lay still, gazing through the window at the tree-tops. “I know John and Mrs. Hadley were about as nervous as Marie Louise.”
“Yes,” returned Ethel; “and isn’t it all absurd?”
“What do you honestly think did happen to Anna that night?” asked Marjorie. “Do you think she made the whole story up?”
“No, I don’t,” replied Ethel, with sincerity. “I think she actually dreamed the whole thing—and walked in her sleep, and got out of the house somehow.”
“But how?”
“That I don’t know. But I have read strange instances of people making discoveries in their sleep—things they could never find out when they were awake. So she may have found some hidden door, or loose window, or something like that.”
“Well, I hope we don’t do anything queer like that,” observed Marjorie, beginning to be influenced in spite of herself by the loneliness of the place. “You don’t walk in your sleep, do you Ethel?”
“Gracious, no!” laughed the other girl. “And by the way, if either of us does get awake, let’s make a promise to wake the other. There’s no use lying here feeling lonely.”