"Mary!" continued cook, as the noise increased, "Mary!"—here she shook and pinched her angrily—"the girl must be dead. Mary!—Mary!"
"It isn't six yet!" yawned Mary.
"Six!—listen!—hush!—do you hear?"
"What's the matter?" said Mary.
"Hark!"
"Oh, it's the cat."
"It's no cat, Mary! Hark! There it is again!"
At this awful moment, they both heard footsteps—they heard them distinctly!—and every step seemed to press upon their hearts.
"Oh!" exclaimed Mary, "What is to become of us!"
"Hush!" cried cook; "Hush! hush!"
The footsteps approached! they came gradually nearer, and still more near! and cook and Mary hugged each other closely, with a view to mutual protection. At length the footsteps reached the door, and cook's heart sank within her.
"D-d-d-on't be frightened, Mary!" she exclaimed; "D-d-d-on't be frightened! Oh! if we should both be ruined!"
"Shall we scream?" said Mary.
"Hark!" cried cook, as the footsteps receded; "Hark, they are going down stairs—do you hear them?"
"I d-d-d-do," replied Mary. "Oh, how d-d-dreadful!"
The sound of the footsteps grew more and more faint, until they were heard in the passage below, when the noise increased!—the very chairs seemed to move! then bolts were withdrawn, and at length a door closed, when all was still as death again.
"They're gone!" said cook, who, while intensely listening to these dreadful sounds, had perspired with so much freedom, that the sheets were quite wet. "Thank heaven! they are gone."
"Are you sure of it?" cried Mary, trembling frightfully—"quite sure!"
"Quite," replied cook, "I heard the door close."
No sooner had Mary been assured of this fact, than she uttered a series of the most fearful screams that ever proceeded from a human throat—"Murder!" she continued, in tones the most piercing—"Murder!—thieves!—fire! mur-der!"
Mary—Mary!" exclaimed cook; "hark!"
The bell rang with violence. Their mistress had been alarmed. But then what was to be done?
"Answer the bell, Mary," said cook; "go, and answer the bell."
"Me answer the bell!" cried Mary. "Me! I couldn't do it—no, not if you'd give me the world! Why they may be in missis's room—who knows! they may be a-murdering of her now! Oh, isn't it horrid?"
The bell still violently rang, but neither cook nor Mary could stir. To protect their mistress they would at any other time have done much, but then—with their imagination teeming with murder—they could not answer that bell.
They now heard footsteps again in the passage; and as the very next moment, to their utter horror, they heard a loud knocking at their door,
