“God help us all,” he sighed, as he finished dressing; and, taking his night-lamp, stole upstairs to listen outside her door.
But all was still as death at first, then the wind rose again, and he heard strange noises within the room. It was, in fact, the wind rushing through the window and banging things about in confusion.
He went and tapped on Mrs. Flint’s door, and she soon confronted him in her cap and gown, exclaiming:
“I thought I heard creaking steps in the hall. What is the matter? Are you ill, Everard?”
“No; but I fancied I heard strange noises from Cinthia’s room. Did you notice anything?”
“I heard the snow sliding off the roof, and the wind shrieking in the branches of that great pine out there. It always sounds so human in a storm, that I would cut it down only that Deacon Flint set store by it. He said he planted it when he was a little boy. But I will go in and peep at Cinthia just to ease your mind, Everard. ’Sh-h! we must not wake her if she is asleep,” turning the knob with a cautious hand and opening wide the door.
Whew! how the cold air rushed in her face and thrust her back. By the light that Everard carried she saw the window wide open and the snow-flakes flying in on the carpet.
“Why, how strange that the window should be open. Cinthia must be crazy. Wait till I shut it, Everard, and bring in the light,” she ejaculated.
He obeyed, and when he entered, they saw what had happened. The room was empty and Cinthia was gone.
Mrs. Flint could not believe it at first. She ran all about the room, and then all over the house, crying in wild dismay: