Then I came back upstairs and entered my own room. I turned on the light.
I stepped softly to the shrunken door, and listened. For a moment I thought I heard nothing; then my heart gave a leap, for her bed began creaking as if she were tossing restlessly upon it.
She was in her room. However desperate, however tortured of spirit, she was there!
She made a sound—a sort of moan.
I tapped on the door.
She was silent.
I opened the door an inch. Her room was dark. Without looking in, I placed my mouth close to the opening, and said—
“Oh—Heloise!”
That was all. I had thought to conceal my own emotions. I had thought to speak gently, kindly—in a way that would make her feel me there as a steady, helpful friend. But my voice suddenly choked. And all I could say was, “Oh—Heloise!”
She did not reply.