consciousness returned, and with it the sweep of painful recollection,
the sense of change, the miserable contrast between the present and the
past,--sleep fled from her eyes. She fell into the vividly awake
condition which is the alternative of broken sleep, and gradually, as she
lay, there came upon her that mysterious sense of another presence in the
room which is so subtle and indescribable. She neither saw anything nor
heard anything, and yet she felt that some one was there.

She lay still for some time and held her breath, listening for a
movement, even for the sound of breathing,--scarcely alarmed, yet sure
that she was not alone. After a while she raised herself on her pillow,
and in a low voice asked, "Who is there? is any one there?" There was no
reply, no sound of any description, and yet the conviction grew upon her.
Her heart began to beat, and the blood to mount to her head. Her own
being made so much sound, so much commotion, that it seemed to her she
could not hear anything save those beatings and pulsings. Yet she was not
afraid. After a time, however, the oppression became more than she could
bear. She got up and lit her candle, and searched through the familiar
room; but she found no trace that any one had been there. The furniture
was all in its usual order. There was no hiding-place where any human
thing could find refuge. When she had satisfied herself, and was about to
return to bed, suppressing a sensation which must, she said to herself,
be altogether fantastic, she was startled by a low knocking at the door
of communication. Then she heard the voice of the elder girl. "Oh, Miss
Vivian what is it? Have you seen anything?" A new sense of anger,
disdain, humiliation, swept through Mary's mind. And if she had seen
anything, she said to herself, what was that to those strangers? She
replied, "No, nothing; what should I see?" in a tone which was almost
haughty, in spite of herself.