The next evening they were all sitting discussing general topics and a pint of peach brandy, and had become exceedingly sociable, particularly over the railroad circulars, which Fox and Bristol had by this time induced her to regard in the light of a huge joke, or error, when the party were suddenly startled by some object which caused a peculiar ringing, yet deadened sound, as it struck the partly-opened door and then bounded upon the carpet where it glisteningly rolled out of sight under the sofa where the thoroughly-scared Mrs. Winslow sat.
"My God! what's that?" she screamed, rushing to the door and peering down the staircase, as rapidly retreating footsteps were distinctly heard; but not being able to discover anybody, scrambled back into the room, shutting and bolting the door behind her.
The woman was deathly pale, the color brought to her face by the brandy having been driven from it as if by some terrible blow; but it came back with her into the room, where Bristol and Fox appeared nearly as frightened as she.
She looked at them a moment in a dazed, stupefied way, and then demanded: "What does this mean?"
"That's what I'd like to know!" returned Bristol, hunting for his quizzers, which he had lost in his jump from his chair. "This is all very fine, but it's pretty plain somebody here's sent for!"
"And I don't want to go!" chimed in Fox, climbing down from a safe position upon the escritoire.
The three looked at each other in an extremely suspicious way, and the woman again demanded, this time threateningly, what it all meant.
The three looked at each other in an extremely suspicious way.—
"Something with a glitter, and it rolled under there," was all Bristol could tell her about it.