"Why, I don't believe I'm myself, Rebecca. I've been here before. I know that village out there, and—and—it's all I can do to talk same's I've always been used to. I'm wanting to talk like—like I did awhile back."
"It's all right! It's all right!" said Rebecca, soothingly. "Th' ain't nothing the matter with you, deary. Ye've ben shet up here with side weight an' what not so long—o' course you're not yerself."
She bustled about pretending to set things to rights, but her heart was heavy with apprehension. She thought that Phœbe was in the first stages of delirium.
"Not myself! No," said Phœbe. "No—the fact is, I'm somebody else!"
At this Rebecca straightened up and cast one horrified glance at her sister. Then she turned and began to put on her bonnet and jacket. Her mind was made up. Phœbe was delirious and they must seek a doctor—at once.
"Get your things on, Phœbe," she said, striving to appear calm. "Put on your things an' come out with me. Let's see if we can't take a little exercise."
Phœbe arose obediently and went to her room. They were neither of them very long about their preparations, and by the time the sun was actually rising, the two women were leaving the air-ship for the second time, Phœbe carrying the precious carved box and Rebecca her satchel and umbrella.
"What you bringin' that everlastin' packet o' letters for?" Rebecca asked, as they reached the opening in the wall.
"I want to have it out in the light," Phœbe replied. "I want to see something."
Outside of the brick wall she paused and opened the box. It was empty.