Quaking in every limb, she groped up the staircase for her candle.
It was gone.
Then a still more sickening fear came over her.
What if this was no spirit's work, but a human arm--a strong one--some man's arm?
Her first impulse was to dart up the stairs, and make sure that no calamity had befallen through her mistimed drowsiness.

But, when she came to try, her dread of the supernatural revived.

She could not venture without a light up those stairs, thronged perhaps with angry spirits.

She ran to the kitchen.

She found the tinderbox, and with trembling hands struck a light.