She was
sure she could sleep then. Very quietly, that she might not disturb the
sleepers in the bedroom beyond, the blind woman sat up in bed and
slipped her feet to the floor.
Within reach were her knit slippers and the heavy shawl always kept at
the head of her bed. With trembling hands she put them on and rose
upright.
At last she was on her feet, and alone. To a woman who for ten years had
depended on others for almost everything but the mere act of breathing,
it was joy unspeakable. She stepped once, twice, and again along the
side of her bed; then she stopped with a puzzled frown--under her feet
was the unyielding, unfamiliar straw matting. She took four more steps,
hesitatingly, and with her arms outstretched at full length before her.
The next instant she recoiled and caught her breath sharply; her hands
had encountered a wall and a window--
and there should have been no
wall or windows there!
The joy was gone now.
Shaking with fear and weakness, the little woman crept along the wall
and felt for something that would tell her that she was still at home.
Her feet made no sound, and only her hurried breathing broke the
silence.
Through the open door to the sitting-room, and down the wall to the
right-on and on she crept.
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