I’m drawn to the window, as if searching for the long-ago image of her standing on the cliff. The moon hangs in the sky. I expect the cliff to be empty at this time of night, but there’s a shadow of movement. A woman in a dress walks through the trees. Not a woman, a child.

It’s Paige.

She’s wearing her nightgown, the one I put her to bed with four hours ago. It’s actually a pale blue color with white stripes and little red flowers on it.

The fourth room down. That’s Mr. Rochester’s room. I knock and then without waiting open the door. He sits up in bed, the hard planes of his chest and shoulders glinting in the moonlight, his dark hair tousled.

“What?” he barks.

“It’s Paige.” I’m breathless. “I saw her walking outside.”

Before he gets out of bed, I’m down the steps in a flurry of cold. I swing a jacket on and slide into my sneakers as I step outside. A freezing wind slams into me, almost propelling me back in the house. I force my way past it and break into a run.

The trees form an arrow in a cluster, pointing toward the house. That’s where I saw her enter the forest. She’s gone now. I look around wildly for a flash of that pale blue nightgown or a streak of dirty blonde hair. Nothing.

“Paige!” Hands grab me from behind, and I shriek.

“It’s me.” A low voice. Mr. Rochester. “Which way did she go?”

“I don’t know.” There’s a puff of air where my warm breath turns cold. “I saw her walking this way through the trees. But she’s not here anymore. Where could she go?”

He looks out over the ocean. Over the cliff. It seems impossible that she could have jumped, but it’s so slippery and treacherous at night. You can’t see where you put your feet. There’s fog in the air tonight, making the stones extra slippery. What if she fell?

We have the same fear. He and I, we move toward the cliff at the same time. We could look over the edge, but we would not see a kitten with nine lives who managed to land on her feet. She would be hurt and crying—or worse.

I reach the very edge, where the rock already begins to slope. It’s been worn away, this corner—by wind and rain. By sleet. It’s already pointing down.

You have to get this far out to see over. I hold my breath and peek. Nothing. Only darkness. Relief washes through me. It takes me a full thirty seconds to sweep my gaze over the full length of it, part of it steep and vertical, part of it a long slope.

No sign of her.