She lay in bed with half-closed eyes, tossing from side to side as the piercing light from the hole in the shutter worried her; dozing heavily, often waking to murmur some feverish thought, starting up and listening—sinking back in her weakness to sleep again.
Toward the middle of the afternoon she roused herself, came to a completer sense of reality than she had done yet, and sprang from her bed. She had to sit for several minutes upon the side of it, with her hands tightly clasped upon her brow, before she could come to a decision as to what her next move could be.
"I am mad to waste the few hours of grace in sleep, instead of putting myself, under the protection of my friends!" she said.
"I must not lose another hour."
She rang the bell, and began to dress herself as hurriedly as weakness would admit of.
"Are you up, Miss Margaret, dear?" said the housekeeper, anxiously, from the hall.
She unlocked the door, held it opened fearfully, and beckoned her to come in.
The old lady's first look was at the girl's face, at which she gasped.
Her next was at the window, from which a blinding ray and a cold current of air assailed her; at which she shrieked:
"Lord ha' mercy! How came that there?"