“I can’t stand it any longer,” she said firmly; “I’m going to see who’s up there.”
“No, no,” cried Billy, “you shan’t; you mustn’t. If you have to find out, I am the one to go.”
“You can’t go,” she returned briefly. “Captain Saulsby will lie still for you, but I can’t do anything with him. You can’t leave him.”
This was so true that Billy was forced to accept it. He did remove his arm for a minute, but the restless patient sat up at once and had to be forced down again among the pillows.
“You see,” said Sally, almost triumphantly, and went on toward the stairs.
“Sally, don’t,” gasped Billy again, but he pled in vain.
“I can’t stand it not to know,” was Sally’s only answer. When once she was set upon a thing it was quite impossible to turn her, a fact that had never been so well proved as now. She advanced to the stairs, leaving Billy in the dark, climbed to the first landing and turned back to smile at him. She was certainly not afraid; she was of an equal certainty rather pleased at his helplessness to stop her.
She turned at the landing to go up the next flight. There must have been a draught under the closed door at the top, for it made her candle wink and flicker, but she marched on undismayed. She looked a dauntless, little figure as she went up from step to step, the moving light shining on her thick, yellow braids and the crossed straps of her white apron, and making her fat little shadow dance behind her on the wall.
CHAPTER VIII
THE STRANGER AT THE MILL