“It will be extra, ye understand,” whispered the hostess behind her hand, “two shilling—but I felt sure ye’d be the better of a mouthful, whilst they were redding up the room, and getting yer bed made.”
In ten minutes we were established in the bedroom, which opened out of another apartment at the opposite side of the front and only door, and was boarded, white-washed, and looked, though bare, unexpectedly possible. There was a wooden bed, a large green wooden press, a chest of mahogany drawers, and looking-glass, a washstand, and numerous religious pictures nailed on the wall—at least four of the Blessed Virgin and the Sacred Heart—over the bed hung a large crucifix.
“We won’t take off all our clothes,” said my aunt, as the door closed, “the sheets are sure to be damp—though they are quite clean. I see she has left us matches. Oh, what a luxury to lie down. B-r-r-r, but the sheets are cold!” and she gave a shiver. To me, the sheets felt as if they had been iced, but I was too sleepy and tired to mind, and soon passed into the land of dreams.
I think I must have been asleep three or four hours—it seemed like three or four minutes—when I was awakened by my aunt shaking me vigorously. She was sitting up in bed.
“Millie—how you do sleep!” she said. “There’s a noise in the press that awoke me. Listen!”
As I could hear nothing, I naturally asked:
“What is it?”
“Hush!” she said impatiently. For a time there was no sound. It seemed to me we were like two fools, sitting up side by side in dead silence in the dark.
At last—yes!—certainly there was a movement in the press—a sort of sliding and shuffling, a bump!
“There!” she exclaimed, hastily lighting the candle. “You hear! Now I intend to see what it is. It’s my opinion there’s a man in the wardrobe!”