again. She spoke as if she were not only resolved to remain, and defied anyone to turn her out who could, but as if she had a positive appetite for any—to put it mildly—disagreeable experiences which her remaining might involve. The first horror she encountered then and there. If she did not mind it—I only wish that I could say the same of myself!
“You left the candle in the hall; let’s go and fetch it.”
As soon as we set foot outside that entry there was a pandemonium of sounds, as of a legion rushing, scrambling, squeaking. It was rats—myriads. The whole house swarmed with them; they were every-where. They were about our feet; I felt them rushing over my boots, whirling against my skirts. One rat is bad enough, in the light, but in the dark—that multitude! I had to scream; to stumble blindfold among those writhing creatures, and keep still, was altogether too much for my capacity.
“Pollie!—light a match!—quick!—they’re all over me!—Pollie!”
She struck a match. I do not know that it was any better now that we could see them. The light only seemed to make them more excited. In fact, their squeaking increased so much that, thinking that it angered them, I had half a mind to tell Pollie to put it out again. But she never gave me a chance. Taking me by the arm she dragged me along the passage so that we were at the front door before I knew it. When we went out we had left a candle on the floor in the passage so that it might be ready for us when we came back. Pollie stooped to pick it up. But, instead of doing so at once, she remained in the same position for a second or two, as if she were staring at something. Then she broke into a laugh.
“Well, that beats anything. That was a new candle when we went out; look at it now.”
I looked; the candle had vanished. In its place
