“Where is my room, aunty?” she inquired, looking back at her hostess.
As she stood there on the great square landing, with one foot on the stair above, and the candle held high above her head, she looked so white and eerie, so like a small wraith, that Miss Priscilla could scarcely believe she was real, and indulged in a vague hope that the vision would disappear as suddenly as it had come.
But Martha felt that it was her turn now, and she said:
“Shall I make up the spare-chamber bed, ma’am?”
“Yes,” said Miss Priscilla, catching gladly at a temporary solution of the problem; “take her there, and put her to bed. I’ll make no plans until morning.” And shutting her teeth together with a snap, Miss Priscilla went to her room and was seen no more that night.
Miss Dorinda did likewise, and Martha said:
“Now, if you’ll come with me, little miss, I’ll try to make you comfortable.”
Ladybird, still holding her dog, followed Martha to the great spare bed-chamber.
“Is this my room?” she said wonderingly, looking at the massive mahogany furniture and old-fashioned decorations.
“It is for to-night, miss, whatever happens to-morrow.”