“No, no,” she said, quickly. “I—I haven't gone to bed.”
“I see you haven't, but why?”
“I didn't want to. I—I'm not sleepy.”
“Not sleepy! At two o'clock in the mornin'? Well,” with a sigh, “I suppose 'tain't to be wondered at. What's happened this night is enough to keep anybody awake. I can't believe it even yet. To think of his comin' back after I've given him up for dead twice over. It's like a story-book.”
“Where is he?”
“Up in bed, in one of the attic rooms. If he hasn't got his death of cold it'll be a wonder. And SUCH yarns as he's been spinnin' to me. I—Emily, what's the matter with you? What makes you act so queer?”
Emily did not answer. Mrs. Barnes walked across the room and, stooping, peered into her face.
“You're white as a sheet!” she cried, in alarm. “And you're tremblin' all over. What in the world IS the matter?”
Emily tried to smile, but it was a poor attempt.
“Nothing, nothing, Auntie,” she said. “That is, I—I'm sure it can't be anything to be afraid of.”