“Those who are coming to destroy your works,” exclaimed Daisy, now fully roused to the peril of her position.
“Let them come!” cried Richard, as he held her more tightly; “when they do,” he added, with a laugh, “I’ll let you go.”
He was drawing Daisy’s face round to his in spite of her struggles, when, in an instant, she ceased to fight against him, as she exclaimed in a low, awe-stricken whisper—“Hush! what was that?” Richard loosed his hold on the instant, and stood listening.
“Nothing but a trick of yours, Miss Daisy,” he cried, catching her arm as she was gliding from him into the darkness.
“Hush! there it is again,” whispered the girl. “I heard it plainly. Pray, pray, let us go.”
“No one can have got in here,” muttered Richard, turning pale, for this time he had distinctly heard some sound from below. “Here, wait a moment, and I’ll go and see.”
“No, no,” faltered Daisy. “Not alone; and you must not leave me. There is danger—there is, indeed, Mr Richard.”
“Give me your hand, then,” he whispered. “Curse the place; it’s dark enough by night to frighten any one. Mind how you come.” Daisy clung convulsively to his hand and arm, as they descended to the second floor, where all seemed to be still, not a sound reaching their ears; and from thence to the first floor, where all was as they had left it.
Here Richard paused for a few moments, but could hear nothing but the beating of their own hearts, for now he, too, was horribly alarmed.
“It’s nothing,” he said at last. “Daisy, you’ve been inventing this to make me let you go.”