The last thing I heard that night was Emmie’s bell ringing hard. I heard Will get up and go into her room, and when I dropped off he was still there, soothing her about something.
I had been asleep for perhaps three hours when I was wakened by a terrific crash from somewhere below, and I leaped out of bed. Across the hall I heard Will moving, and the next moment he ran down the staircase. Tish was not in her room, and, convinced that something dreadful had occurred, I hurried down in my nightdress.
I could hear Tish’s voice in the pantry, and Will moaning and saying Emmie was dead, and when I opened the pantry door I thought at first that she was.
She was lying on the floor in a dead faint, with a slice of bread and butter in her hand, and Tish was standing over her keeping Will off.
“She’s all right,” she said. “Let her alone. She’ll come round all right.”
“But she’s fainted,” Will yelled. “Get Miss Smith. Ring up the doctor. Pour some water over her.”
Tish did this last. She turned on the cold-water tap, filled a dipper, and flung its contents hard in Emmie’s face. And if ever I’ve seen a fainting woman look furious Emmie did. But she only opened her eyes and said weakly:
“Where am I?”
“You’re here, darling,” said Will, trembling all over. “You’ll be all right now.”
“How did I get here?” she whimpered.