CHAPTER XIII.
A VISION OF THE NIGHT.
In a second Pollie was across the room, through the door, and on the landing. Before I could stop her she was tearing down the stairs, crying,
“Now we’ll see who that is!”
I was in a dreadful position, not wanting to descend and be murdered as a result of seeing “who that is,” nor daring to remain behind alone. I did not even venture to call out and try to stay her, not knowing who might hear my voice below. She had gone off with our only piece of candle and left me in the dark. All I could do was to steal after her as quickly as possible, keeping as close to her as I was able. Pollie was at the bottom almost before I started; she had gone down with a hop, skip, and a jump; I had to struggle with the darkness and the rats. Leaning over what was left of the banisters I could see the gleam of her candle in the passage. I expected to hear her shriek, and sounds of a struggle. The candle flickered, as if she were moving here and there in an endeavour to discover the cause of the commotion. Presently her voice came up to me.
“Emily!”
“Yes?”
I spoke in a much lower tone than she had done.
“No one’s murdered, unless it’s you up there. In case you’re not, you might come down.”
I went. She appeared disgusted, rather than other-
