Usually she might have been lifted, counterpane and all, and carried away bodily without being aware of it.
Nearly two weeks after the night of her rencontre with Mr. Chesleigh, old Dinah awoke suddenly "in the dead waste and middle of the night," seized in the relentless grip of her old enemy, the rheumatism.
She rolled herself out of her quilt and sat upright, groaning dolorously, and rubbing her knees in which the pain had settled.
"Oh, Lordy! oh, Lordy!" she groaned, "how my ole bones does ache! Miss Golden! Miss Golden! my precious lam', wake up, and bid your ole brack mammy a las' far'well. I'm a-dyin', sartin, shuah!"
But Golden, usually a very light sleeper, made no reply. Dinah reared her woolly head upward and looked into the bed.
The bed was empty.
Then Dinah looked around her in amazement to see if Golden was not in the room, laughing at her lugubrious groans as she had often done before. But she saw no trace of her young mistress.
"Miss Golden! Miss Golden!" she called, "is you in de udder room? Ef you is, come in here! I'se berry sick, honey, almos' a-dyin'."
But her repeated calls elicited no reply. It appeared that pretty Golden was out of sight and hearing.
Suddenly old Dinah saw the dainty, white, ruffled night-dress, in which Golden had retired that night, lying in a snowy heap upon the floor.