Mr. Cardus had fled with the rest, but as soon as he got outside the swing-door his common sense reasserted itself, and he stopped.
“Come, come,” he called to the others, “don’t be so silly; you are not going to run away from a dead woman’s head, are you?”
“You ran too,” said Dorothy, pulling up and gasping.
“Yes, I know I did; those eyes startled me; but, of course, they are glass. I am going back; it is a great curiosity.”
“It is an accursed thing,” muttered Dorothy.
Mr. Cardus turned and re-entered the room, and the others, comforting themselves with the reflection that it was broad daylight, and drawn by their devouring curiosity, followed him. That is, they all followed him except Grice, who was ill for two days afterwards. As for Sampson and the groom, who had seen the sight through the window, they ran for a mile or more along the cliff before they stopped.
When they got back into the room, they found old Atterleigh still standing and staring at the crystal eyes, that seemed to be returning his gaze with compound interest, while Florence was there with the long linen wrapper in her hand, gazing down at the beautiful hair that flowed from the head on to the oak box, from the box to the table, and from the table nearly to the ground. It was, oddly enough, of the same colour and texture as her own. She had taken off her hat when she began to undo the wrappings, and they all noticed the fact. Nor did the resemblance stop there. The sharp fine features of the mummied head were very like Florence’s; so were the beautiful teeth and the fixed hard smile. The dead face was more lovely, indeed, but otherwise the woman of the Saxon era—for, to judge from the rude tiara on her brow, it is probable that she was Saxon—and the living girl of the nineteenth century might have been sisters, or mother and daughter. The resemblance startled them all as they entered the room, but they said nothing.
They drew near, and gazed again without a word. Dorothy was the first to break the silence.
“I think she must have been a witch,” she said. “I hope that you will have it thrown away, Reginald, for she will bring us bad luck. The place where she was buried has been unlucky; it was a great abbey once, now it is a deserted ruin. When we tried to get the case up, we were all very nearly killed. She will bring us bad luck. I am sure of it. Throw it away, Reginald, throw her into the sea. Look, she is just like Florence there.”
Florence had smiled at Dorothy’s words, and the resemblance became more striking than ever. Eva shuddered as she noticed it.