dark. I drifted into that hazy state which is neither sleep nor full consciousness. Then, I do not know how much later, I was sitting up in bed, my covers clutched to me, straining my ears for a repetition of that sound which had jolted me into heart-hammering wakefulness.
4
I pulled my robe about me and went to the door of my room. Peering out warily, I could see the faint glow of light from the stairwell. Between that and me were blots formed by two chairs back to the wall. Had a phone ring, sounding through the quiet house, awakened me? Or the closing of a door, the murmur of a voice?
Shivering, I stood listening. The silence was a little frightening. I could not guess how late it was—my watch lay on the bedside table behind me. All the doors along the hall were closed. This was like being left alone in an empty house—no, not an empty house—rather, one inhabited by someone, or something, I would rather not meet. My hand was on theknob of my own door, ready to close it against that silence which lay like a breath between two sighs.
Footsteps on the stairs—but with an oddly long pause between each. Against my will, I was drawn down the shadowed corridor to the head of the stairway. Shock pushed me into quick action.
Miss Elizabeth was dragging herself up, plainly by great effort. Both her hands pulled at the rail. Her body sagged as if only a determined will kept her on her feet at all.
She did not speak as I reached her. Only she turned her head, so even in this faint light, I saw a face which might be the death mask of the self-confident woman I knew. Fear chilled me even as I managed to half-support her up the last few steps. Once on the level floor of the hall, she swayed and might have fallen had I not taken a good portion of her weight.
“Room—” Her voice was a husky whisper. “Last room—”
Somehow she stayed on her feet, kept moving, as I steered her to the last door along the corridor. Doctor? I must get a doctor! Mrs. Anne Frimsbee—any help—I glanced at each door we passed, wishing I knew on which to knock.
Our wavering progress halted. Miss Elizabeth fumbled with a small, jet-beaded purse clipped to her belt. Her shaking fingers could not master the catch and I caught her murmur. “Key—”
I found the key while she leaned against the wall, her breath coming in heavy gasps as if she could not get enough air into her laboring luungs. The lockclicked and I groped along the wall within to locate the light switch.
Miss Elizabeth eluded my grasp and tottered ahead, to fall, rather than seat herself, in a rocking chair. Under the light, her haggard face had such a ghastly color my alarm grew. Was she going to die, perhaps of a heart attack, before I could get help? Yet dared I leave her to summon that? Irene’s room was the only one I was certain of, and I was about to go for her when Miss Elizabeth sat up a little straighter.
Perhaps reaching the sanctuary of her own room worked as a restorative. Although she still rested her head against the comb back of the chair, a faint color was back in her gray-white cheeks. Now I dared to pick up one of her paper-white, blue-veined hands, enclosing the cold and clammy flesh between my palms as I asked:
“You are ill, Miss Austin. May I call your doctor?”
Her hand jerked in my hold. When she answered her voice was stronger:
“I shall be all right now, thank you. Just tired, so very tired. Let me just sit here and rest a while—”
It was true she seemed stronger, but I was not satisfied. Surely this collapse was caused by more than ordinary fatigue. A heart attack—even a light stroke? My life with Aunt Otilda during the last couple of years had made me conscious of the ills of the elderly, and how quickly some weakness might strike. Perhaps delayed shock from Miss Elizabeth’s sister’s death was responsible. I could not just leave her so.
“Would you like me to call Mrs. Frimsbee—or Irene?”
Her eyes were half-closed and her
4
I pulled my robe about me and went to the door of my room. Peering out warily, I could see the faint glow of light from the stairwell. Between that and me were blots formed by two chairs back to the wall. Had a phone ring, sounding through the quiet house, awakened me? Or the closing of a door, the murmur of a voice?
Shivering, I stood listening. The silence was a little frightening. I could not guess how late it was—my watch lay on the bedside table behind me. All the doors along the hall were closed. This was like being left alone in an empty house—no, not an empty house—rather, one inhabited by someone, or something, I would rather not meet. My hand was on theknob of my own door, ready to close it against that silence which lay like a breath between two sighs.
Footsteps on the stairs—but with an oddly long pause between each. Against my will, I was drawn down the shadowed corridor to the head of the stairway. Shock pushed me into quick action.
Miss Elizabeth was dragging herself up, plainly by great effort. Both her hands pulled at the rail. Her body sagged as if only a determined will kept her on her feet at all.
She did not speak as I reached her. Only she turned her head, so even in this faint light, I saw a face which might be the death mask of the self-confident woman I knew. Fear chilled me even as I managed to half-support her up the last few steps. Once on the level floor of the hall, she swayed and might have fallen had I not taken a good portion of her weight.
“Room—” Her voice was a husky whisper. “Last room—”
Somehow she stayed on her feet, kept moving, as I steered her to the last door along the corridor. Doctor? I must get a doctor! Mrs. Anne Frimsbee—any help—I glanced at each door we passed, wishing I knew on which to knock.
Our wavering progress halted. Miss Elizabeth fumbled with a small, jet-beaded purse clipped to her belt. Her shaking fingers could not master the catch and I caught her murmur. “Key—”
I found the key while she leaned against the wall, her breath coming in heavy gasps as if she could not get enough air into her laboring luungs. The lockclicked and I groped along the wall within to locate the light switch.
Miss Elizabeth eluded my grasp and tottered ahead, to fall, rather than seat herself, in a rocking chair. Under the light, her haggard face had such a ghastly color my alarm grew. Was she going to die, perhaps of a heart attack, before I could get help? Yet dared I leave her to summon that? Irene’s room was the only one I was certain of, and I was about to go for her when Miss Elizabeth sat up a little straighter.
Perhaps reaching the sanctuary of her own room worked as a restorative. Although she still rested her head against the comb back of the chair, a faint color was back in her gray-white cheeks. Now I dared to pick up one of her paper-white, blue-veined hands, enclosing the cold and clammy flesh between my palms as I asked:
“You are ill, Miss Austin. May I call your doctor?”
Her hand jerked in my hold. When she answered her voice was stronger:
“I shall be all right now, thank you. Just tired, so very tired. Let me just sit here and rest a while—”
It was true she seemed stronger, but I was not satisfied. Surely this collapse was caused by more than ordinary fatigue. A heart attack—even a light stroke? My life with Aunt Otilda during the last couple of years had made me conscious of the ills of the elderly, and how quickly some weakness might strike. Perhaps delayed shock from Miss Elizabeth’s sister’s death was responsible. I could not just leave her so.
“Would you like me to call Mrs. Frimsbee—or Irene?”
Her eyes were half-closed and her
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