“There’s a cabinet over there,” Nora whispered. “A person might hide in that.”
She was holding on to Alma and looked odd, indeed, still dressed in that gorgeous velvet costume.
“Here’s another light—this will show us the far end there,” said Miss Beckwith, snapping on the extra bulb.
“There it is!” gasped Pell. “Oh, it is somewhere—yes, come over here,” she cried. “Surely that’s a child!”
The faint cry, that was almost like a sob, sounded again. It must be over under the low beams.
Nora forgot her terror now, for she knew the secret place of the long, rumbling attic, and no sooner had she heard the distinct cry than she brushed past all the others, dragged up a big dust curtain, then stopped.
“Here! Here!” she called frantically. “It’s a little girl. Bring the candle!”
Thistle was beside her with the extra light. “Oh, mercy!” gasped Nora. “It’s Lucia.”
“Lucia,” repeated the others.
“Yes, my own little darling Lucia. Oh, child,” she cried out, “what has happened to you? How ever did you get here?”