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 did not want to wake her mother, who has been rather ill lately. So I threw on some clothes and got ready to look for Lucy myself. As I was leaving the room it struck me that Lucy's clothes might give me some clue of what she was doing. A dressing-gown would mean she was in the house, but she might wear a dress outside. Dressing-gown and dress were both still in the wardrobe. "Thank God," I said to myself, "she cannot be far, because she is only in her nightdress."

I ran downstairs and looked in the sitting room. Lucy was not there! Then I looked in all the other rooms of the house, and became more and more frightened with every empty room. 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 in her nightdress. There was no time to think of what might happen. I was almost too frightened to think clearly. I took a big, heavy shawl and ran out. The clock was striking one as I was in the Crescent, and there was not a soul in sight.