for supper. Lucy and I had both a fight for it with the dusty miller; I
know it was a hard fight on my part, and I am quite heroic. I think that
some day the bishops must get together and see about breeding up a new
class of curates, who don t take supper, no matter how they may be
pressed to, and who will know when girls are tired. Lucy is asleep and
breathing softly. She has more colour in her cheeks than usual, and
looks, oh, so sweet. If Mr. Holmwood fell in love with her seeing her
only in the drawing-room, I wonder what he would say if he saw her now.
Some of the New Women writers will some day start an idea that men and
women should be allowed to see each other asleep before proposing or
accepting. But I suppose the New Woman won t condescend in future to
accept; she will do the proposing herself. And a nice job she will make
of it, too! There s some consolation in that. I am so happy to-night,
because dear Lucy seems better. I really believe she has turned the
corner, and that we are over her troubles with dreaming. I should be
quite happy if I only knew if Jonathan.... God bless and keep him.
* * * * *
_11 August, 3 a. m._--Diary again. No sleep now, so I may as well write.
I am too agitated to sleep. We have had such an adventure, such an
agonising experience. I fell asleep as soon as I had closed my diary....
Suddenly I became broad awake, and sat up, with a horrible sense of fear
upon me, and of some feeling of emptiness around me. The room was dark,
so I could not see Lucy s bed; I stole across and felt for her. The bed
was empty. I lit a match and found that she was not in the room. The
door was shut, but not locked, as I had left it. I feared to wake her
mother, who has been more than usually ill lately, so threw on some
clothes and got ready to look for her. As I was leaving the room it
struck me that the clothes she wore might give me some clue to her
dreaming intention. Dressing-gown would mean house; dress, outside.
Dressing-gown and dress were both in their places. Thank God, I said
to myself, she cannot be far, as she is only in her nightdress. I ran
downstairs and looked in the sitting-room. Not there! Then I looked in
all the other open rooms of the house, with an ever-growing fear
chilling my heart. Finally I came to the hall door and found it open. It
was not wide open, but the catch of the lock had not caught. The people
of the house are careful to lock the door every night, so I feared that
Lucy must have gone out as she was. There was no time to think of what
might happen; a vague, overmastering fear obscured all details. I took a
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