room, brought out the solitary candle and threw its rays around.
Not a soul was there; neither man nor woman, neither ghost nor spirit. And yet Mr. Carlton felt certain that a face had been there. An unaccountable feeling, vague superstition mixed with real fear, came over him and shook him as he stood; and yet I say he was by nature a fearless man, and perhaps this was the first time in his remembrance that such terror had assailed him. He threw the light around the landing; he threw it down the stairs; there was no upper story; but nothing was to be seen, and all was silent and still. Carrying the light still, he went into the bed-room by the door on the landing and threw its rays there. Mrs. Crane glanced up from the bed in surprise.
“Were you looking for anything?” she asked.
“Nothing particular. Good night.”
He went straight on to the sitting-room through the intervening door, glancing around him still into every nook and corner, and put the candle back on the mantel-piece whence he had taken it—for Mrs. Crane rather liked lying in the dark. Then he wiped his hot face and descended the stairs, willing to persuade himself that he had been mistaken.
“I think I must be a fool,” he muttered. “What has come over me to—night? Is the house haunted?”
Soon, all too soon, ere ten o’clock had struck, the house was haunted. Haunted by a presence that had no business there—Death.
CHAPTER VI.THE COMPOSING DRAUGHT.
It was Mrs. Gould who ran up to open the door for Mr. Carlton. He spoke with her a minute or two, and then departed, she returning to the kitchen and the society of Mrs. Pepperfly.
It may strike the reader that all these details have been given at some length; but, as was afterwards found, every little event of that ill-starred night bore its own significance.
Mrs. Gould and the nurse were in the full title of gossip: the former leaning back in her chair at her case before the supper-table, on which stood a suspicious-looking green bottle, its contents white, of which both ladies, if the truth may be told, had been partaking. The latter was bending over the fire, stirring something in a saucepan, when there came a loud, sharp rap at the kitchen window. Both started and screamed: the widow clapped her glass and teaspoon down on the table, and Mrs. Pepperfly nearly dropped the candle into the saucepan. Although they knew, had they taken a moment’s leisure to reflect, that the knock came from Judith, who frequently took that mode of making her visit known on coming in from the other house, it considerably startled them.
Judith it was. And she laughed at them as she stepped inside the passage from the yard, and entered the kitchen.
“What a simpleton you be, Judy, to come frightening folks in that fashion!” cried the widow, irascibly. “One would think you were a child. Can’t you come into the house quiet and decent?”
“It was as good as a play to see the start you two gave,” cried Judith. “My face is bad, and I am going to hell,” she added, changing her tone, “but I thought I’d step in first and see if I could do anything more for Mrs. Crane. I suppose she’s not asleep?”
“She’s not asleep yet, for Mr. Carlton’s but just gone. You can go up and ask her.”
It was nurse Pepperfly who spoke: the widow was resentful yet. Mrs. Pepperfly regarded Judith with complaisance, for she took a great deal of care and trouble off her hands, which must otherwise have fallen to the nurse’s exclusive share.
Judith proceeded up-stairs. She felt very tired, for she had been up all Friday and Saturday nights, and though she had gone to bed on Sunday night, she had slept but little, owing to the pain in her face. She was rather subject to this pain, feeling it whenever she took the slightest cold.
“Is that you, Judith?” cried. Mrs. Crane. “How is your face-ache now?”
“The pain’s getting easier, ma'am,” was Judith’s answer. “Mr. Stephen Grey said it would, now the swelling had come on. I stepped in to ask whether I can do anything more for you to-night?”
“No, thank you, there’s nothing more to be done. I suppose the nurse won’t be long before she brings up the gruel. You can tell her I am ready for it as you go down. You will be glad to get to bed, Judith.”
“Well, ma'am, I shall; and that’s the truth. To lie tossing about with pain, as I did last night, tires one more than sitting up.”
“And the two previous nights you were sitting up. I don’t forget it, Judith, if you do.”
“Oh, ma'am, that’s nothing. It’s a mercy that you have not required more sitting up than that. Many do require it.”
“I!” returned Mrs. Crane in a hearty tone. “I don’t believe I required it at all. I am as well as I possibly can be. Mr. Carlton has just said so. I should like to get up tomorrow, Judith.”
Judith shook her head, and said something