“Who is it? What do you want?” Maria asked again.
A weak voice answered her then, “It's I.”
“Who's I? Lily?”
“Yes. Oh, do let me in, Maria.” Lily's voice ended in a little, hysterical sob.
“Hush,” said Maria, “or Aunt Maria will hear you. Wait a minute.” Maria unlocked her door with the greatest caution, opened it, and crept down-stairs. Then she unlocked and opened the front door. Luckily Aunt Maria's room was some feet in the rear. “Come quick,” Maria whispered, and Lily came running up to her. Then Maria closed and locked the front door, while Lily stood trembling and waiting. Then she led her up-stairs in the dark. Lily's slender fingers closed upon her with a grasp of ice. When they were once in Maria's room, with the door closed and locked, Maria took hold of Lily violently by the shoulders. She felt at once rage and pity for her.
“What on earth is the matter, Lily Merrill, that you come over here this time of night?” she asked. Then she added, in a tone of horror, “Lily Merrill, you haven't a thing on but a skirt and your night-gown under your shawl. Have you got anything on your feet?”
“Slippers,” answered Lily, meekly. Then she clung to Maria and began to sob hysterically.
“Come, Lily Merrill, you just stop this and get into bed,” said Maria. She unwound Lily's shawl, pulled off her skirt, and fairly forced her into bed. Then she got in beside her. “What on earth is the matter?” she asked again.
Lily's arm came stealing around her and Lily's cold, wet cheek touched her face. “Oh, Maria!” she sobbed, under her breath.
“Well, what is it all about?”