“Rhoda, is that you?” she asked in a whining voice. “Why have you been gone so long? Oh, I’ve been so worried!”
Penny hesitated, then went over to the bed.
“I’m not Rhoda, but a friend of hers,” she explained. “Do you mind if I crawl out through the window?”
“It’s nailed down and there are bars,” the elderly woman replied. “Oh, this is a horrible place! Rhoda tried to tell me. I wouldn’t listen!”
Scarcely hearing, Penny ran to the window. As she pulled aside the dusty velvet draperies, she saw for herself that the window was guarded by ancient rusty bars. Everywhere escape seemed cut off!
Turning to the bed again, she observed with some alarm that the old lady had fallen back on her pillow. Moonlight flooding in through the diamond-shaped panes of glass accentuated her pallor.
“You’re Mrs. Hawthorne, aren’t you?” she inquired gently.
The woman nodded. She coughed several times and pulled the one thin coverlet closer about her.
“Where is Rhoda?” she asked. “Why doesn’t she come to me?”
Penny could not tell her the truth—that her granddaughter had been locked in the chapel bedroom by Father Benedict. Nor could she express the fear that an even worse fate was in store for the girl unless help came quickly to the monastery.