So they chatted on, for another hour. In the street outside everything was quiet, when suddenly the doctor raised a warning finger. ‘Did you hear anything, Sesemann?’ he asked.
They listened and heard distinctly the sound of a bolt being pushed back, and a key turned, then the door opened. Mr Sesemann reached for his revolver.
‘You’re not afraid, are you?’ asked the doctor quietly.
‘It’s better to be careful,’ the other whispered back.
They each took a light in one hand and a revolver in the other and went out into the corridor. There they saw a pale streak of moonlight coming through the open door, and shining on a white figure which stood motionless on the threshold.
‘Who’s there?’ shouted the doctor so loudly that his voice echoed down the corridor. They both moved towards the front door. The figure turned and gave a little cry. It was Heidi who stood there, barefooted, in her white nightgown, staring in bewilderment at the weapons and the lights. She began to tremble and her lips quivered. The men looked at each other in astonishment.
‘Why I believe it’s your little water‐carrier!’ said the doctor.
‘What are you doing here, child?’ asked Mr Sesemann. ‘Why have you come downstairs?’
Heidi stood before him, white as her nightgown, and answered faintly, ‘I don’t know.’
‘I think this is a case for me,’ said the doctor. ‘Let me take the child back to her room, while you go and sit down again.’ He put his revolver on the ground, took Heidi gently by the hand, and led her upstairs. She was still shivering and he tried to soothe her by speaking in his friendly way to her. ‘Don’t be afraid. Nothing terrible is going to happen. You’re all right.’
When they reached her room, he set the light down on the table and lifted Heidi back into bed. He covered her up carefully, then sat down in a chair beside her and waited until she was more herself. Then he took her hand and said gently, ‘That’s better. Now tell me where you were going.’
‘Nowhere,’ whispered Heidi. ‘I didn’t know I’d gone downstairs. I just was there.’
Her small hand was cold in the doctor’s warm one.
‘I see,’ he said. ‘Can you remember whether you’d had a dream? One perhaps that seemed very real?’
‘Oh yes.’ Heidi’s eyes met his. ‘I dream every night that I’m back with Grandfather and can hear the wind whistling through the fir trees. I know in my dream the stars must be shining brightly outside, and I get up quickly and open the door of the hut — and it’s so beautiful. But when I wake up I’m always still here in Frankfurt.’ A lump came in her throat and she tried to swallow it.
‘Have you a pain anywhere?’ asked the doctor. ‘In your head or your back?’
‘No, but I feel as though there’s a great stone in my throat.’
‘As though you’d taken a large bite of something and can’t swallow it?’
Heidi shook her head. ‘No, as if I wanted to cry.’
‘And do you sometimes have a good cry?’
Her lips quivered again. ‘No. I’m not allowed to. Miss Rottenmeier has forbidden it.’
‘So you swallow it down, I suppose. You like being in Frankfurt, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ she said, but it sounded much more as though she meant to say No.
‘Where did you live with your grandfather?’
‘On the mountain.’
‘That wasn’t much fun, was it? Didn’t you find it rather dull there?’
‘Oh no, it’s wonderful.’ Heidi got no further. The memory of home, added to the shock of all she had been through, overcame the ban which had checked her tears, and they suddenly rained down her cheeks and she sobbed bitterly.
The doctor got up and laid her head gently on the pillow. ‘Have a good cry, it won’t do you any harm,’ he said. ‘Then go to sleep, and in the morning everything will be all right.’ He left the room and went to find Mr Sesemann, who was anxiously awaiting him.
‘Well, in the first place your little foster‐child is a sleepwalker,’ he began. ‘Without knowing anything about it, she has been opening the front door every night and frightening the servants out of their wits. In the second place she’s terribly homesick, and appears to have lost a great deal of weight, for she’s really not much more than skin and bone. Something must be done at once. She’s very, upset and her nerves are in a bad state. There’s only one cure for that sort of trouble — to send her back to her native mountains, and immediately. She should leave for home tomorrow — that’s my prescription.’
Mr Sesemann got to his feet and paced up and down the room, much disturbed. ‘Sleepwalking, homesick, and losing weight — fancy her suffering all this in my house without anyone noticing! She was so rosy and strong when she arrived. Do you think I’m going to send her back to her grandfather looking thin and ill? No, you really mustn’t ask me to do that. Cure her first. Order whatever you like to make her well, then I’ll send her home, if she wants to go.’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ protested the doctor. ‘This is not an illness that can be cured with pills and powders. The child’s not robust, but if you send her back to the mountains at once she’ll soon be herself again. If not… you might find you have to send her back ill, incurable, or even not at all.’
Mr Sesemann was greatly upset. ‘If that’s how things are, doctor, of course I’ll do as you say,’ he promised.
When at last the doctor took his leave, it was the light of dawn which flooded through the front door.
13
Home Again
Mr Sesemann went upstairs feeling both anxious and annoyed, and he knocked loudly on Miss Rotten‐meier’s door. She awoke with a start to hear him say, ‘Please get up quickly and come to the dining‐room. We have to make preparations for a journey.’ She looked at her clock: its hands pointed to only half past four. She had never got up so early in her life. What could have happened? She was in such a state of curiosity and excitement that she hardly knew what she was doing, and kept looking for garments which she had already put on.
Mr Sesemann then went along the passage and pulled vigorously at the bells which communicated with the rooms where the servants slept. Sebastian, John, and Tinette all leapt out of bed and threw on their clothes just any how, thinking the ghost must have attacked their master and that he was calling for help. They sped to the dining‐room one after the other, all rather dishevelled, and were taken aback to find Mr Sesemann looking as brisk and cheerful as usual, and not at all as though he had seen a ghost. John was dispatched to fetch the carriage and horses at once, Tinette to waken Heidi and get her ready for a journey. Sebastian was sent to fetch Detie from the house where she worked.
Meanwhile Miss Rottenmeier completed her toilet, though she had put on her cap the wrong way round, so that from a distance it looked as though she were walking backwards, but Mr Sesemann rightly attributed this to her having been disturbed so early. He wasted no time on explanations, but told her to find a trunk immediately, and pack all Heidi’s belongings in it. ‘Put some of Clara’s things in as well,’ he added. ‘The child must be well provided for. Hurry, now, there’s no time to lose.’
Miss Rottenmeier was so astonished that she just stood and stared at him. She had been expecting him to tell her some terrible story about the ghost (which she would not have minded hearing by daylight). Instead she was met with these extremely businesslike (if rather inconvenient) orders. She could not understand it, and simply waited blankly for some sort of explanation. But Mr Sesemann left her, without saying anything further, and went to Clara’s bedroom. As he expected, she had been awakened by all the commotion and was most anxious to know what had happened, so he sat down at her bedside and told her the whole story, ending up, ‘Dr Classen is afraid Heidi’s health has suffered, and says she might even go up on the roof in her sleep. You can understand how dangerous that would be. So I’ve made up my mind that she must go home at once. We can’t risk anything happening to her, can we?’