omnambulism.

"I'm not going to stop awake again, though, until twelve," she objected.
"I had enough of it last night. It's somebody else's turn."

"Whoever happens to wake must call the others," suggested Irene.

"We'll leave it at that," they agreed.

For two successive nights, however, all four girls slept soundly until
the seven-o'clock bell rang. They were generally tired, and none of them
suffered from insomnia. On the third night Betty heard the clock strike
two, and, going into Marjorie's cubicle, tickled her awake.

"Get up! You've got to act Lady Macbeth!" she urged. "Best opportunity
for a star performance you've ever had in your life. You'll take the
house."

"I'm so sleepy," yawned Marjorie. "And," putting one foot out of bed,
"it's so beastly cold!"

"Never mind, the fun will be worth it. We're going to wait about to hear
them squeal. It'll be precious. No, you musn't put on your dressing-gown
and bedroom slippers--sleep-walkers never do--you must go as you are."

"Play up, Marjorie!" decreed the others, who were also awake.

Thus encouraged, Marjorie rose to the occasion and began to act her
part. There was one difficulty to be overcome. At night a lamp was left
burning in the corridor, but the bedrooms were in darkness. How were the
occupants of No. 8 going to see her? They must be decoyed somehow from
their beds. She decided to open the door of their room so as to let in a
little light, then enter, walk round their cubicles, and go out again on
to the landing, where she hoped they would follow her. Softly she
entered the door of No. 8, and advanced in a dramatic attitude with
outstretched hands, in imitation of a picture she had once seen of Lady
Macbeth. The light from the corridor, though dim, was quite sufficient
to render objects distinct. At the first stealthy steps Daisy Shaw awoke
promptly. Her shuddering little squeal aroused the others, and they
gazed spellbound at the white-robed figure parading in ghostly fashion
round their room. Avoiding the furniture, Marjorie, with arms still
outstretched, tacked back into the corridor. Exactly as she had
anticipated, the girls rose and followed her. They were huddled together
at the door of their dormitory, watching her with awestruck faces, when
an awful thing happened. Another door opened, and Miss Norton, blue
dressing-gown and bedroom slippers and all, appeared on the scene.

"What's the matter?" she asked sharply.

"Marjorie Anderson's w