“Should I get up, bring the lamp in, and lock the door?
“But suppose there were no key in the door—it was swung back, I could not see the inside key-hole; if I should get up and find no key, and could not lock the door, I should confess to myself that I was afraid—how could I lie there, with the door shut and not locked, and be afraid? I was afraid to be afraid. I would rather lie there, and look with staring eyes at the lamp and the wide stairs, and listen, and listen, with my very breath, and know that I was not afraid.”
“Oh, dear!” cried Judith, with a choking in her throat.
“Morning came. Oh, that blessed streak of dawn. I arose and slowly pushed the door so that I could see the lock.
“There was no key.”
“Oh!” cried Judith, with a sudden, sharp breath, cold to her very finger-tips.
“That day was the happiest day of my life. I never knew before how happy I could be. I had learned that I could be kept from being too afraid.”
“Only just afraid enough,” laughed Judith, glad that the laugh was not frozen in her throat.
“How I scampered around that day and helped, and scampered around and didn’t help. That was years ago, and I haven’t told the story yet. That no key was one of my turning-points.”
“I wish I might have a turning-point,” said Judith, “only I never could bear to be afraid.”