“What, alone?” said the butler blankly.
“Come along, then, and I’ll go with you.”
“I’ll come too, sergeant,” said Artingale. “Don’t alarm the ladies if you can help it.”
And together they mounted the thickly-carpeted stairs.
Part 2, Chapter XIV.
Gone! Where?
If one could but bring oneself to the belief, there is only a slight difference between day and night, and that difference is that in the latter case there is an absence of light—that is all; but, somehow, we people the darkness with untold horrors. We ignore it, of course; we should ridicule the impeachment, but the fact remains the same, that probably nineteen people out of every twenty are afraid of being in the dark—perhaps more so than they were when children.
Possibly we grow more nervous than when we were young, or gas may have had something to do with it; certainly more people seem to burn lights in their bedrooms than used to be the case before a gas-burner or two had become the regular furniture of a well-ordered bedroom in town.