“What ghost?”
“There is a terrible ghost in that tower at night. I can see it from my old bed-room window. His—hands—move!”
“Now dear, you’re being silly,” reproved the woman. “How can you remember anything like that, that happened so long ago! It must have been some foolish dream you had when you were not much more than a baby.”
“But I can even picture it now!” she persisted.
“Oh, come on,” urged the other, grasping her by the arm. “You’re too old for such ridiculous fancies now. Besides, I’m right here. Nothing can harm you.” She almost dragged her back by force to the house.
“I—I—know I’ll die, Aunt Elsie,” sobbed Helen, her voice shaking with fear. “Or go crazy.”
Mrs. Fishberry drew down the corners of her mouth.
“I think that you’re crazy now,” she remarked, with biting scorn.
The girl started to cry piteously. She was weak and helpless; now that Linda Carlton and her dear Aunt Emily had been taken from her, there was no one in the world to protect her. For she had no faith in this strange uncle, who apparently cared as little for her as did this harsh woman.
“I want Linda!” she cried. “Oh, Linda, why did you leave me?”