Then Jeremy's heart would be broken.
She slept from utter exhaustion, and was so found, when the room was quite dark and only shadows moved in it, by her mother.
"Why, Mary!" said Mrs.Cole.

"What are you doing here?
We couldn't think where you were.

And where's Jeremy ?" "Jeremy!" She started up, remembering everything.
"Hasn't he come back?
Oh, he's lost and he'll be killed, and it will be all my fault!" She burst into another fit of wild hysterical crying.
Her mother took her arm.

"Mary, explain--What have you done ?" Mary explained, her teeth chattering, her head aching so that she could not see.
"And you shut him up like that?
Whatever--Oh, Mary, you wicked girl! And Jeremy--He's been away two hours now--" She turned off, leaving Mary alone in the black room.
Mary was left to every terror that can beset a lonely, hysterical child--terror of Jeremy's fate, terror of Hamlet's loss, terror of her own crimes, above all, terror of the lonely room, the waving elms and the gathering dark.

She could not move; she could not even close the door of the wardrobe, into whose shelter she had again crept.