“You must not bring those,” said the elder woman.
“But I want you to have some.”
“I’m not like you. I’m not fond of sweets, and have no intention of making my fingers sticky.”
Then Rosalie put them down, and followed her in silence and obedience.
They went downstairs together, and took the door opening into the central hall to the right, the one through which Rosalie had not yet passed.
But at the threshold Rosalie stood still. It seemed to her as if a great spider’s web was barring their further progress. A breath of darkness and dampness was wafted out to meet them, and inclination bade her turn back there and then. Mariana evidently noticed nothing of this hesitation; she passed through the door, and held it open for Rosalie to follow. The gigantic cobweb was nothing but delusion evidently, and melted into nothingness.
“Don’t shut the door,” Rosalie whispered; but it had closed silently even as she spoke.
And here was darkness and cold dampness. She heard her heart beat wildly in the stillness, and groped for Mariana’s arm. It seemed cold and lifeless, having no animation.
“Can’t we get a light?” she whispered, with dry lips, and her voice sounded hollow in her own hearing.
“The light is farther down the passage.”