“Thank you.” Her eyes shut again briefly. But the lids fluttered open with difficulty, as if struggling against a closing hand. I leaned down so my face hung above her, so close that I could see how dry her lips had become and could see the gentle throb of life continue its weary patter at her throat.

“Miss Grange, what may I do to ease you a little?”

A trace of her old smile crossed over her mouth like the shadow cast on grass by a fast-moving cloud.

“Maisie Thomas,” she said, and closed her eyes again.

We sat for a bit in silence. At first, I imagined that she had something to tell me and was resting before she spoke, but then I saw by the faint movement of her covers that she had slipped into a light sleep. I lifted my head and looked about the room. I had never before been here after the lamps were lit, and the airy brightness the room sported in daylight now had vanished. The room instead seemed cavernous and full of a nameless dread; I resolved not to move again from the bedside and the lamp’s dull glow.

Very slowly, Miss Grange spoke again. This time she did not open her eyes, so the effect was of a sleeper talking.

“Maisie, reach below my head. There is a letter beneath the pillow.”

I bent over her to find the letter, and as my hand closed on the envelope, her face turned toward mine. “Finish the story, child.” I heard, though I had not seen her lips move. And now I was afraid. Had she spoken? Or was the voice inside my own head?

“Maisie—” she whispered.

I faltered. “Yes.”

“The way through lies with you and what you do now.”

“And that might be …” I paused, my heart beating fast, searching her face, so close to mine.

“Anything.” She sighed and then, as if satisfied, she closed her eyes and slept. I drew the envelope out from the pillow and sat back again, shaking.

But she did not wake again, sinking, rather, into a deeper place in sleep, a stiller place. Around me, the shadows in the room seemed to hush. The form of Miss Grange remained, but I could see she had begun to steal away, slipping quietly by me at her side. I do not know whether I dozed or slid into a kind of reverie, but the room felt strangely populated, as if, had I really chosen to look, I might have seen what I had never yet seen with daylit eyes. Sometime in the night, I thought a white-clad figure crossed from the windows toward the bed. I started, but Miss Grange’s voice, suddenly strong, spoke from out the covers.