The song died. All over that great rambling structure not even the reassuring chirp of a cricket! I stood perfectly still. What the deuce should I do? Turn back? As I formed this question in my mind a draft of wind slammed the door shut. I was in for it, sure enough; I was positive that I could never find that door again. There was nothing to do but wait, and wait with straining ears. Here were mysterious inhabitants.—they might be revolutionists, conspirators, counterfeiters.
Heaven knows how long I waited.
Soon I heard a laugh, light, infectious, fearless! Then I heard a voice, soft and pleading.
"Don't go; in mercy's name, don't go, Gretchen! You may be killed!"
English! I had actually heard a voice speak my native tongue.
"Nonsense, Betty! I am not afraid of any ghost that ever walked, rode or floated."
"Ghost? It may be a burglar!"
"Or Steinbock! We shall find nothing."
Indeed!
"Nothing but a rat, bungling about in the armor." The laughter came again. "You are not afraid, Betty?"