Silently, I tiptoed to
the doorway, and peeped out. Then, I experienced such a feeling of
relief, as must a reprieved criminal--it was my sister. She was going
toward the stairs.
I stepped into the hall, and was about to call to her, when it occurred
to me, that it was very queer she should have crept past my door, in
that stealthy manner. I was puzzled, and, for one brief moment, the
thought occupied my mind, that it was not she, but some fresh mystery of
the house. Then, as I caught a glimpse of her old petticoat, the thought
passed as quickly as it had come, and I half laughed. There could be no
mistaking that ancient garment. Yet, I wondered what she was doing; and,
remembering her condition of mind, on the previous day, I felt that it
might be best to follow, quietly--taking care not to alarm her--and see
what she was going to do. If she behaved rationally, well and good; if
not, I should have to take steps to restrain her. I could run no
unnecessary risks, under the danger that threatened us.
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