I haven't heard a sound from him. Call me early, Auntie."
Thankful lit her own lamp; Emily took the one already lighted and
hastened down the hall. Thankful shut the door and prepared for bed.
The din of the storm was terrific. The old house shook as if it
were trembling with fright and screaming in the agony of approaching
dissolution. It was a long time before Thankful fell asleep, but at last
she did.
She was awakened by a hand upon her arm and a voice whispering in her
ear.
"Auntie!" whispered Emily. "Auntie, wake up! Oh, DO wake up!"
Thankful was broad awake in a moment. She sat up in bed. The room was in
black darkness, and she felt rather than saw Miss Howes standing beside
her.
"What is it, Emily?" she cried. "What is the matter?"
"Hush, hush! Don't speak so loud. Get up! Get up and light the lamp."
Thankful sprang out of bed and hunted for the matchbox. She found it
after a time and the lamp was lighted. Emily, wearing a wrapper over her
night clothes, was standing by the door, apparently listening. Her face
was white and she was trembling.
"What IS it?" whispered Thankful.
"Hush! I don't know what it is. Listen!"
Thankful listened. All she heard were the noises of the storm.
"I don't hear anything," she said.
"No--no, you can't hear it from here. Come out into the hall."
Cautiously and on tiptoe she led the way to the hall and toward the head
of the front stairs. There she seized her cousin's arm and whispered in
her ear.
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