"Very well, listen, father. . . . I was in this house; and I heard that talking; and I ran along the passages, till I saw light below a door; and then I stopped. . . . Nearer, father."
Percy was a little awed in spite of himself. Her voice had suddenly dropped to a whisper, and her old eyes seemed to hold him strangely.
"I stopped, father; I dared not go in. I could hear the talking, and I could see the light; and I dared not go in. Father, it was Felsenburgh in that room."
From beneath came the sudden snap of a door; then the sound of footsteps. Percy turned his head abruptly, and at the same moment heard a swift indrawn breath from the old woman.
"Hush!" he said. "Who is that?"
Two voices were talking in the hall below now, and at the sound the old woman relaxed her hold.
"I—I thought it to be him," she murmured.
Percy stood up; he could see that she did not understand the situation.
"Yes, my child," he said quietly, "but who is it?"
"My son and his wife," she said; then her face changed once more. "Why—why, father"
Her voice died in her throat, as a step vibrated outside. For a moment there was complete silence; then a whisper, plainly audible, in a girl's voice.
"Why, her light is burning. Come in, Oliver, but softly."
Then the handle turned.
