We grew cheerful, laughed at our fright, and were chatting away again as briskly as before, when there was a noise in bed. We were silent in a moment. The counterpane certainly moved. Grandfather’s eyes almost started from his head. The next instant there was a violent sneeze.
I jumped as if shot. Grandfather seemed petrified. He attempted to ejaculate something, but was scared by the sound of his own voice.
“Mercy!” says I.
“What was it?” said grandfather.
“Let’s go and call Dorothy,” said I.
“She would be frightened out of her senses.”
“I shall die with fright if I hear anything more,” I said, half dead already with fear.
Just then a figure started up in the bed.
“And wha—and wha—and wha—” mumbled the object, gesticulating.
I sprang for the door, grandfather after me, and, reaching the bottom of the stairs at one bound, gave vent to my terrors by a scream, that, for aught I know, could have been heard a mile distant.