In our fathers’ days, people who were invalids burned long, thin, dismal rushlights in shades, with the candle itself in the middle of a cup of water; or else they had a glass containing so much oil floating on water, and a little wick upon its own raft, sailing about like a miniature floating beacon in the oil. But still these were the exceptions, and a light in a bedroom was an uncommon thing. At the same time, though, it must be allowed that there is something fear-exciting about the dark rooms, and that sounds that are unnoticed in the broad daylight acquire a strange weirdness if heard when all else is still. People have a bad habit of being taken ill in the night; burglars choose “the sma’” hours for breaking into houses; sufferers from indigestion select the darkness for their deeds of evil known as sleep-walking; and the imps attendant on one’s muscles prefer two or three o’clock in the so-called morning for putting our legs on that rack known as the cramp. It is perhaps after all excusable then for people to indulge, in moderation, in a little nocturnal alarm; and it may also, for aught we know, be good for us, and act as a safety-valve escape for a certain amount of bad nerve-force. No doubt Priam was terribly alarmed when his curtains were drawn in the dead of the night—as much so, perhaps, as the mobled queen; and therefore it was quite excusable for the Rector to answer the summons of the head of his wedding staff of servants in a state of no little excitement.
“Dreadful! extraordinary! most strange?” he faltered. “You were passing, Henry, eh?”
“Yes: Mr Magnus and I were going by, and we found the policeman had discovered that the door was open.”
“Then the place has been rifled,” exclaimed the Rector; “and many of the things are hired,” he cried piteously. “Everything will be gone! What is to be done?”
“Hush, Mr Mallow! we shall alarm the whole house,” said Artingale, hastily. “I fancy I saw some one leave the place as we came up. Will you send and see if—if—”
He hesitated, for he saw Magnus with a face like ashes, standing holding on by the balustrade.
“Yes, yes,” exclaimed the Rector. “Speak out, please. Do you mean see if all the servants are at home?”
“I don’t know—I scarcely know what to say,” whispered Artingale, going close up to him. “We want to avoid exposure, sir. Go and knock at Cynthia’s door, and send her to see if her sister has been alarmed.”
“There is no occasion to frighten her. Let the place below be well searched, and the servants examined.”
Just then Mrs Mallow’s voice was heard inquiring what was the matter, and the Rector thrust his head inside the door to tell her that she was not to be alarmed.