Mrs. Baxter dined placidly in bed at about half-past seven; but she
was more sleepy than ever when she had done. She was rash enough to
drink a little claret and water.
"It always goes straight to my head, Charlotte," she explained. "Well,
set the book--no, not that one--the one bound in white parchment....
Yes, just so, down here; and turn the reading lamp so that I can read
if I want to.... Oh! ask Miss Maggie to tap at my door very softly
when she comes out from dinner. Has she gone down yet?"
"I think I heard her step just now, ma'am."
"Very well; then you can just tell Susan to let her know. How was
Mr. Laurie looking, Charlotte?"
"I haven't seen him, ma'am."
"Very well. Then that is all, Charlotte. You can just look in here
after Miss Maggie and settle me for the night."
Then the door closed, and Mrs. Baxter instantly began to doze off.
She was one of those persons whose moments between sleeping and
waking, especially during a little attack of feverishness, are
occupied in contemplating a number of little vivid pictures of all
kinds that present themselves to the mental vision; and she saw as
usual a quantity of these, made up of tiny details of the day that was
gone, and of other details markedly unconnected with it. She saw for
example little scenes in which Maggie and Charlotte and medicine
bottles and Chinese faces and printed pages of a book all moved
together in a sort of convincing incoherence; and she was just
beginning to lose herself in the depths of sleep, and to forget her
firm resolution of reading another page or so of the book by her side,
when a little sound came, and she opened, as she thought, her eyes.
Her reading lamp cast a funnel of light across her bed, and the rest
of the room was lit only by the fire dancing in the chimney. Yet this
was bright enough, she thought at the time, to show her perfectly
distinctly, though with shadows fleeting across it, her son's face
peering in at the door. She thought she said something; but she was
not sure afterwards. At any rate, the face did not move; and it seemed
to her that it bore an expression of such extraordinary malignity that
she would hardly have known it for her son's. In a sudden panic she
raised herself in bed, staring; and as the shadows came and went, as
she stared, the face was gone again. Mrs. Baxter drew a quick breath
or two as she looked; but there was nothing. Yet again she could have
sworn that she heard the faint jar of the closing door.
She reached out and put her hand on the bell-string that hung down
over her bed. Then she hesitated. It was too ridiculous, she told
herself. Besides, Charlotte would have gone to her room.
But the fear did not go immediately; though she told herself again and
again that it was just one of those little waking visions that she
knew so well.
She lay back on the pillow, thinking.... Why, they would have reached
the fish by now. No; she would tell Maggie when she came up. How
Laurie would laugh tomorrow! Then, little by little, she dozed off
once more.
* * * * *
The next thing of which she was aware was Maggie bending over her.
"Asleep, Auntie dear?" said the girl softly.
The old lady murmured something. Then she sat up, suddenly.
"No, my dear. Have you finished dinner?"
"Yes, Auntie."
"Where's Laurie? I should like to see him for a minute."
"Not tonight, Auntie; you're too tired. Besides, I think he's gone to
the smoking-room."
She acquiesced placidly.
"Very well, dearest.... Oh! Maggie, such a queer thing happened just
now--when you were at dinner."
"Yes?"
"I thought I saw Laurie look in, just for an instant. But he looked
awful, somehow. It was just one of my little waking visions I've told
you of, I suppose."
The girl was silent; but the old lady saw her suddenly straighten
herself.
"Just ask him whether he did look in, after all. It may just have been
the shadow on his face."
"What time was it?"
"About ten past eight, I suppose, dearest. You'll ask him, won't you?"
"Yes, Auntie.... I think I'd better lock your door when I go out. You
won't fancy such things then, will you?"
"Very well, dearest. As you think best."
The old voice was becoming sleepy again: and Maggie stood watching a
moment or two longer.
"Send Charlotte to me, dearest.... Good night, my pet.... I'm too
sleepy again. My love to Laurie."
"Yes, Auntie."
The old lady felt the girl's warm lips on her forehead. They seemed to
linger a little. Then Mrs. Baxter lost herself once more.