In The Early Morning

I stood looking at the empty bed. The coverings had been thrown back,
and Louise's pink silk dressing-gown was gone from the foot, where it
had lain. The night lamp burned dimly, revealing the emptiness of the
place. I picked it up, but my hand shook so that I put it down again,
and got somehow to the door.

There were voices in the hall and Gertrude came running toward me.

"What is it?" she cried. "What was that sound? Where is Louise?"

"She is not in her room," I said stupidly. "I think--it was she--who
screamed."

Liddy had joined us now, carrying a light. We stood huddled together
at the head of the circular staircase, looking down into its shadows.
There was nothing to be seen, and it was absolutely quiet down there.
Then we heard Halsey running up the main staircase. He came quickly
down the hall to where we were standing.

"There's no one trying to get in. I thought I heard some one shriek.
Who was it?"

Our stricken faces told him the truth.

"Some one screamed down there," I said. "And--and Louise is not in her
room."

With a jerk Halsey took the light from Liddy and ran down the circular
staircase. I followed him, more slowly. My nerves seemed to be in a
state of paralysis: I could scarcely step. At the foot of the stairs
Halsey gave an exclamation and put down the light.

"Aunt Ray," he called sharply.

At the foot of the staircase, huddled in a heap, her head on the lower
stair, was Louise Armstrong. She lay limp and white, her dressing-gown
dragging loose from one sleeve of her night-dress, and the heavy braid
of her dark hair stretching its length a couple of steps above her
head, as if she had slipped down.