Two or three of the girls sat up, drawing the bed-clothes to their chins.
“Miss Blyth, what is the cause of this confusion? Are we never to have any sleep to-night?”
Miss Ashton, getting out of bed, came across the room to see what was the matter. The match went out. The red-hot end dropped on to the counterpane. I brushed it off with my fingers. As I did so I touched the thing. My nerves were so strung up that I gave a scream. There came an echo from the girls. Miss Ashton was at my side before I could strike another match. She was in a fine rage.
“Give me the box!” She snatched it from me. “Have you been misbehaving yourself? or are you mad? I’ll soon see what is the cause of all this nonsense, and then I’ll be sorry for whoever is at the bottom of it.”
The first match she tried would not light. The second burst into vivid flame. She stooped down.
“What is this thing upon your bed? It’s some painted toy. You impudent girl!”
Picking it up, she threw it on to the floor into the corner of the room. Her match went out. There was a sound like a little cry of pain.
“Whatever’s that?” asked Lucy.
“It’s nothing,” replied Miss Ashton. “It was only the thing striking against the floor.”
“I believe it’s alive,” I said. “It shrieked.”
“I believe you have been drinking.”
“Miss Ashton!”
“I have heard of people who have been drinking seeing things—that appears to be your condition now. Are you going to get into bed? You will have something to shriek for when the morning comes.”
I got into bed, feeling so cowed, that I could not even resent, with a proper show of dignity, her monstrous accusation. That anyone could have been wicked enough to accuse me of such a thing! I was
