“Is any one ill?” said a voice just then, which made Artingale thrill, and he ran to the door from which the voice had come.
“Dress yourself quickly, Cynthy,” he whispered, “and go and tell Julie not to be alarmed. We—we are afraid there has been a burglary.”
The door closed, and just then the Rector, who had been compelled to go back to his room to quiet Mrs Mallow’s fears, came back.
“I will speak to the young ladies,” he said, looking pale and troubled, and going along the landing, he tapped lightly at Julia’s door.
“Julia, my dear! Julia!”
He tapped again.
“Julia, my child! Julia!”
Still no answer.
He tapped a little louder, a little louder still—but no answer; and Artingale and Magnus exchanged glances.
“Dear me, it is most embarrassing. How fast she sleeps,” said the Rector, looking round apologetically. “Really, gentlemen, I do not think we ought to disturb her.”