Lesley did not fall asleep as quickly as usual that night, and when at last she drowsed she awoke with a sudden start and a beating heart. What had frightened her? She did not know, but she tiptoed to the window to see if the fog had lifted and found that all was clear and the Light shining bravely across the waters. The door between her brother’s room and her own was always left open at night, for she had had a care of him ever since he was a baby and she glanced through it as she went back to bed. She stopped in amaze, for there was no dark head on the pillow there. Where was Ronnie? She was in the room in a minute, and looking in the closet, under the bed, in the corners, then back in her own room where perhaps the boy might be hiding and trying to frighten her. No, no Ronnie there.
She ran to her mother’s door with a cry, and Mrs. McLean, hearing, lifted her head to say, “What is it, Lesley? Are you sick?”
“No, Mother, but I can’t find Ronnie,” with a little gasp of fear.
“Not find Ronnie!”—and in a moment Mrs. McLean had hurried on slippers and an old shawl and was in her boy’s room. In another moment Malcolm was there, too, gathering some clothing about him as he came, and together they looked in every likely and unlikely place upstairs. Then Malcolm hurried to the floor below, calling back that every door was shut and bolted on the inside.
“The cellar!” cried Mrs. McLean, but no, that door was also closed and bolted.
“He must be in the tower, then,” exclaimed Father, hurrying to the second floor again, and Lesley and her mother followed him as he ran up the corkscrew stairs to the Light.
All was peaceful there; the lamp blazed like a splendid sun and the speckless glass protected it from all wandering breezes. All was peaceful, but the little door in the masonry was open and the three dived through it into the gallery that ran around the tower.
“Hush!” whispered Mrs. McLean, “don’t speak to him! He’s walking in his sleep.”
That is just what the boy was doing, in fact—walking on the gallery in his little white nightgown, his eyes fast closed, as calmly as if he had been at play on the grass.