FullReads

“‘What’s the matter?’ I asked.

“‘Don’t you hear?’ gasped Fatima, in a whisper.

“If she had said at once that there was a robber under the bed, a burglar at the window, or a ghost in the wardrobe, I should have prepared for the worst, and it would have been less alarming than this unknown evil.

“‘I hear nothing,’ I said, pettishly. ‘I wish you’d go to sleep, Fatima.’

“‘There!–now!’ said Fatima.

“I held my breath, and in the silence heard distinctly the sound of some one snoring in an adjoining apartment.

“‘It’s only some one snoring,’ I said.

“‘Where?’ asked Fatima, with all the tragedy in her voice unabated.

“‘In the room behind us, of course,’ I said, impatiently. ‘Can’t you hear?’

“Fatima’s voice might have been the voice of a shadow as she answered: ‘There is no room there.‘

“And then a cold chill crept over me also; for I remembered that the wall from behind which the snoring unmistakably proceeded was an outer wall. There had been the room of old Mr. Bartlett, which his son-in-law and murderer had pulled down. There he had been heard ‘breathing heavily,’ and had been seen asleep upon his bed, long after he was smothered in his own pillows, and his body shut up in the family vault. At least, so it was said, and at that particular moment we felt no comfort from the fact that Miss Lucy had said that ‘of course it wasn’t true.’ I said something, to which Fatima made no reply, and I could feel her trembling, and hear a half-choked sob. I think fear for her overpowered my other alarm, and gave me a sort of strength.

“‘Don’t, dear,’ I begged. ‘Let’s be brave. It must be something else. And there’s nothing in the room. Let’s go to Bedford. She’s next door but one.’

“Fatima could speak no more. By the moonlight through the blind, I jumped up, and half dragged, half helped her out of bed and across the room. Opening the door was the worst. To touch anything at such a moment is a trial. We groped down the passage; I felt the handle of the first door, and turned that of the second, and in we went. The window-blind of this room was drawn up, and the moonlight streamed over everything. A nest of white drapery covered one chair, a muslin dress lay like a sick ghost over a second, some little black satin shoes and web-like stockings were on the floor, a gold watch and one or two feminine ornaments lay on the table; and in the bed reposed–not Bedford, but our friend Kate, fast asleep, with one arm over the bed-clothes, and her long red hair in a pigtail streaming over the pillow. I climbed up and treated her as Fatima had treated me, calling her in low, frightened tones over and over again. She woke at last, and sat up.

“‘You sprites! What is the matter?’ she exclaimed.

“I stumbled through an account of our misfortunes, in the middle of which the young lady lay down, and before it was ended I believe she was asleep again. Poor Fatima, who saw nothing before us but to return to our room with all its terrors, here began to sob violently, which roused our friend once more, and she became full of pity.

“‘You poor children!’ she said, ‘I’m so sleepy. I cannot get up and go after the ghost now; besides, one might meet somebody. But you may get into bed if you like; there’s plenty of room, and nothing to frighten you.’

“In we both crept, most willingly. She gave us the long tail of her hair, and said, ‘If you want me, pull. But go to sleep, if you can!’–and, before she had well finished the sentence, her eyes closed once more. In such good company a snoring ghost seemed a thing hardly to be realized. We held the long plait between us, and, clinging to it as drowning men to a rope, we soon slept also.