11 August, 3 a.m. – Diary again. No sleep now, so I may as well write. I am too agitated to sleep. We have had such an adventure, such an agonizing experience. I fell asleep as soon as I had closed my diary…

      Suddenly I became awake, and sat up, with a horrible sense of fear upon me, and of some feeling of emptiness around me. The room was dark, so I could not see Lucy’s bed. The bed was empty. 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 feared to wake her mother. I ran downstairs and looked in the sitting-room. Not there! Then I looked in all the other open rooms of the house, with a growing fear in my heart. Finally I came to the hall door and found it open. It was not wide open. The people of the house usually lock the door every night. I took a big, heavy shawl and ran out. The clock was striking one, and there was not a soul in sight.

      I ran along the North Terrace, but could see no sign of the white figure which I expected. Then as the cloud passed I could see the ruins of the abbey; the church and the churchyard became gradually visible. There, on the bench, I saw snowy white figure. It seemed to me that something dark stood behind the figure, and bent over it. What it was, whether man or beast, I could not tell; I did not wait to catch another glance, but flew down the steep steps to the pier and along to the bridge, which was the only way to reach the East Cliff. The town seemed dead, for not a soul did I see. I rejoiced that it was so, for I wanted no witness of poor Lucy’s condition. The time and distance seemed endless, and my knees trembled. When I got almost to the top I could see the bench and the white figure, and I was now close enough to distinguish it even through the shadow. There was undoubtedly something, long and black, it was bending over the white figure. I called in fright, “Lucy! Lucy!” and something raised a head, and I saw a white face and red, gleaming eyes. Lucy did not answer, and I ran on to the entrance of the churchyard. As I entered, the church was between me and the bench, and for a minute or so I lost sight of her. When I came in view again the cloud had passed, and I could see Lucy lying on the bench. She was quite alone, and there was not a sign of anybody about.

      When I bent over her I noticed that she was still asleep. She was breathing – not softly as usual with her, but in long, heavy gasps. As I came close, she put up her hand in her sleep and pulled the collar of her nightdress close around her throat. I fastened the shawl at her throat with a big safety pin;[97] but I was clumsy in my anxiety and pinched or pricked her with it, for when her breathing became quieter, she put her hand to her throat again and moaned. I put my shoes on her feet and then began very gently to wake her. At first she did not respond; but gradually she became more and more uneasy in her sleep, moaning and sighing occasionally. At last, I shook her more forcibly, till finally she opened her eyes and awoke. She did not seem surprised to see me, as, of course, she did not realize all at once where she was.

      Lucy always wakes prettily, and even at such a time in a churchyard at night, she did not lose her grace. She trembled a little, and when I told her to come with me home she rose without a word, with the obedience of a child. We got home and we did not meet anybody. Once we saw a man, who seemed not quite sober; but we hid in a door till he had disappeared.

      When we came home, and washed our feet, and said a prayer of thankfulness together, I brought her to bed. Before falling asleep she asked – even implored – me not to say a word to any one, even her mother, about her sleep-walking adventure. I thought it wiser to do so. I hope I did right.

      Same day, noon. – All goes well. Lucy slept till I woke her. She looks better this morning than before. I was sorry to notice that I hurt her with the safety-pin. Indeed, it can be serious, for the skin of her throat was pierced. There are two little red points like pin-pricks, and on the band of her nightdress was a drop of blood. When I apologized, she laughed, and said she did not even feel it. Fortunately it is so tiny.

      Same day, night. – We passed a happy day. The air was clear, and the sun bright, and there was a cool breeze. We took our lunch to Mulgrave Woods.[98] In the evening we heard some good music by Spohr and Mackenzie,[99] and went to bed early. Lucy seems more restful than she has been for some time, and fell asleep at once. I shall lock the door and secure the key the same as before, though I do not expect any trouble tonight.