“Scre-e-e-e-e-ch-h-h-h!” went the housemaid, giving vent to a shrill cry that would have made an emulative locomotive burst in despair; and, still screaming, the two women clung together, and backed slowly to the house, ran down the passage to the kitchen, shrieking still, where the cook sank into a chair, which gave way beneath her, and she fell heavily on the floor.
“Are you mad, Mary—Cook? What is the matter?” exclaimed Mrs Brandon, running into the kitchen, chamber-candlestick in hand, closely followed by Edward.
“They are mad—both on ’em!” growled the footman.
“A ghost, a ghost!” panted Mary, shuddering, and pointing towards the passage.
“A ghost!” exclaimed Mrs Brandon contemptuously. “You foolish wicked woman! How dare you alarm the children with such ridiculous, such absurd old grandmothers’ notions? You’ve been out, I suppose?”
“Yes, yes!” sobbed Mary, covering her blanched face with her hands.
“And you saw something white, I suppose, in the moonlight?”
“N-n-n-o, ’m! It was a black one, all but the horrid face with the moon on it.”
“Edward,” said Mrs Brandon, “some one has been trying to frighten them, and they have left the passage door open. You are not afraid?”
“How should I know till I see what it’s like!” growled Edward. “Anyhow, I’ll go and try.”