As far as my candle-flame carried, I could see nothing
unusual ahead of me. I hurried on, breathless; but as I pushed open
the baize door leading to the main hall my heart stood still, for
there at the head of the stairs was Emma Saxon, peering dreadfully
down into the darkness.
For a second I couldn't stir; but my hand slipped from the door, and
as it swung shut the figure vanished. At the same instant there came
another sound from below stairs--a stealthy mysterious sound, as of
a latch-key turning in the house-door. I ran to Mrs. Brympton's room
and knocked.
There was no answer, and I knocked again. This time I heard some one
moving in the room; the bolt slipped back and my mistress stood
before me. To my surprise I saw that she had not undressed for the
night. She gave me a startled look.
"What is this, Hartley?" she says in a whisper. "Are you ill? What
are you doing here at this hour?"
"I am not ill, madam; but my bell rang."
At that she turned pale, and seemed about to fall.
"You are mistaken," she said harshly; "I didn't ring. You must have
been dreaming." I had never heard her speak in such a tone. "Go back
to bed," she said, closing the door on me.
But as she spoke I heard sounds again in the hall below: a man's
step this time; and the truth leaped out on me.
"Madam," I said, pushing past her, "there is someone in the house--"
"Someone--?"
"Mr. Brympton, I think--I hear his step below--"
A dreadful look came over her, and without a word, she dropped flat
at my feet.
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