It must have been her fancy then; and yet it was strange, that, without anything in her previous thoughts to lead to it, she should have imagined this figure so very distinctly.She was still wondering and thinking of it, when a girl came to light her to bed.
The old man took leave of the company at the same time, and they went up stairs together.It was a great, rambling house, with dull corridors and wide staircases which the flaring candles seemed to make more gloomy.She left her grandfather in his chamber, and followed her guide to another, which was at the end of a passage, and approached by some half-dozen crazy steps.This was prepared for her.The girl lingered a little while to talk, and tell her grievances.She had not a good place, she said; the wages were low, and the work was hard.She was going to leave it in a fortnight; the child couldn't recommend her to another, she supposed? Instead she was afraid another would be difficult to get after living there, for the house had a very indifferent character; there was far too much card-playing, and such like.
She was very much mistaken if some of the people who came there oftenest were quite as honest as they might be, but she wouldn't have it known that she had said so, for the world.Then there were some rambling allusions to a rejected sweetheart, who had threatened to go a soldiering--a final promise of knocking at the door early in the morning--and 'Good night.'
The child did not feel comfortable when she was left alone.She could not help thinking of the figure stealing through the passage down stairs; and what the girl had said did not tend to reassure her.The men were very ill-looking.They might get their living by robbing and murdering travellers.Who could tell?
Reasoning herself out of these fears, or losing sight of them for a little while, there came the anxiety to which the adventures of the night gave rise.Here was the old passion awakened again in her grandfather's breast, and to what further distraction it might tempt him Heaven only knew.What fears their absence might have occasioned already! Persons might be seeking for them even then.
Would they be forgiven in the morning, or turned adrift again! Oh!
why had they stopped in that strange place? It would have been better, under any circumstances, to have gone on!
At last, sleep gradually stole upon her--a broken, fitful sleep, troubled by dreams of falling from high towers, and waking with a start and in great terror.A deeper slumber followed this--and then--What! That figure in the room.
A figure was there.Yes, she had drawn up the blind to admit the light when it should be dawn, and there, between the foot of the bed and the dark casement, it crouched and slunk along, groping its way with noiseless hands, and stealing round the bed.She had no voice to cry for help, no power to move, but lay still, watching it.
On it came--on, silently and stealthily, to the bed's head.The breath so near her pillow, that she shrunk back into it, lest those wandering hands should light upon her face.Back again it stole to the window--then turned its head towards her.
The dark form was a mere blot upon the lighter darkness of the room, but she saw the turning of the head, and felt and knew how the eyes looked and the ears listened.There it remained, motionless as she.At length, still keeping the face towards her, it busied its hands in something, and she heard the chink of money.
Then, on it came again, silent and stealthy as before, and replacing the garments it had taken from the bedside, dropped upon its hands and knees, and crawled away.How slowly it seemed to move, now that she could hear but not see it, creeping along the floor! It reached the door at last, and stood upon its feet.The steps creaked beneath its noiseless tread, and it was gone.
The first impulse of the child was to fly from the terror of being by herself in that room--to have somebody by--not to be alone--and then her power of speech would be restored.With no consciousness of having moved, she gained the door.
There was the dreadful shadow, pausing at the bottom of the steps.
She could not pass it; she might have done so, perhaps, in the darkness without being seized, but her blood curdled at the thought.The figure stood quite still, and so did she; not boldly, but of necessity; for going back into the room was hardly less terrible than going on.
The rain beat fast and furiously without, and ran down in plashing streams from the thatched roof.Some summer insect, with no escape into the air, flew blindly to and fro, beating its body against the walls and ceiling, and filling the silent place with murmurs.The figure moved again.The child involuntarily did the same.Once in her grandfather's room, she would be safe.
It crept along the passage until it came to the very door she longed so ardently to reach.The child, in the agony of being so near, had almost darted forward with the design of bursting into the room and closing it behind her, when the figure stopped again.
The idea flashed suddenly upon her--what if it entered there, and had a design upon the old man's life! She turned faint and sick.
It did.It went in.There was a light inside.The figure was now within the chamber, and she, still dumb--quite dumb, and almost senseless--stood looking on.
The door was partly open.Not knowing what she meant to do, but meaning to preserve him or be killed herself, she staggered forward and looked in.
What sight was that which met her view!
The bed had not been lain on, but was smooth and empty.And at a table sat the old man himself; the only living creature there; his white face pinched and sharpened by the greediness which made his eyes unnaturally bright--counting the money of which his hands had robbed her.
