At the time it had seemed to her most reassuring--the
plans she had based upon it adequate and sensible in the normal
light of day. But now the light of day had been blotted out and
with it her security. Her plans seemed weapons of paper against the
sinister might of the darkness beyond her windows. A little wind
wailed somewhere in that darkness like a beaten child--beyond the
hills thunder rumbled, drawing near, and with it lightning and the
storm.
She made herself sit down in the chair beside her favorite lamp on
the center table and take up her knitting with stiff fingers. Knit
two--purl two--Her hands fell into the accustomed rhythm
mechanically--a spy, peering in through the French windows, would
have deemed her the picture of calm. But she had never felt less
calm in all the long years of her life.
She wouldn't ring for Lizzie to come and sit with her, she simply
wouldn't. But she was very glad, nevertheless, when Lizzie appeared
at the door.
"Miss Neily."
"Yes, Lizzie?" Miss Cornelia's voice was composed but her heart
felt a throb of relief.
"Can I--can I sit in here with you, Miss Neily, just a minute?"
Lizzie's voice was plaintive. "I've been sitting out in the kitchen
watching that Jap read his funny newspaper the wrong way and
listening for ghosts till I'm nearly crazy!"
"Why, certainly, Lizzie," said Miss Cornelia primly. "Though," she
added doubtfully, "I really shouldn't pamper your absurd fears, I
suppose, but--"
"Oh, please, Miss Neily!"
"Very well," said Miss Cornelia brightly.
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