At last the door opened gently.
'Who's there?' I cried, in extremity of horror, expecting I knew not whom.
'Me, Miss,' whispered Mary Quince, to my unutterable relief; and with her
candle flared, and a wild and pallid face, Mary Quince glided into the
room, locking the door as she entered.
I do not know how it was, but I found myself holding Mary fast with both my
hands as we stood side by side on the floor.
'Mary, you are terrified; for God's sake, what is the matter?' I cried.
'No, Miss,' said Mary, faintly, 'not much.'
'I see it in your face. What is it?'
'Let me sit down, Miss. I'll tell you what I saw; only I'm just a bit
queerish.'
Mary sat down by my bed.
'Get in, Miss; you'll take cold. Get into bed, and I'll tell you. It is not
much.'
I did get into bed, and gazing on Mary's frightened face, I felt a
corresponding horror.
'For mercy's sake, Mary, say what it is?'
So again assuring me 'it was not much,' she gave me in a somewhat diffuse
and tangled narrative the following facts:--
On closing my door, she raised her candle above her head and surveyed the
lobby, and seeing no one there she ascended the stairs swiftly.
Pages:
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697