She really felt, as she hesitated at the foot of the ladder, that she must get back to the girls or she would go mad. Her knees were trembling so that she was afraid she could never climb the ladder to the top.
But she must do it or go back to the girls disgraced.
One hand grasped the rung above her head while the other held aloft the flickering candle and she began the difficult climb, hampered by the long white robe that clung like something alive about her ankles and by the necessity of holding the candle.
Four rungs, five rungs, six rungs—was the ladder a mile long? she wondered, while the wind wailed still more dismally about the house.
Then at last she reached the top. Her candle showed a small door not more than four feet high—the door to the tower room.
Her hand felt for the knob. She grasped it. The door was locked. To make sure, Billie gave the door a vigorous shake, and as it did so something white and soft fluttered to her feet and fell on the top rung of the ladder.
For a minute Billie felt faint and dizzy, and she had to cling to the ladder desperately to keep from falling.
The next moment she saw that what had frightened her was only a handkerchief, and she stooped to pick it up. It was old and stained. What was that stain upon it?
She brought the little square of linen closer to her eyes and then with a stifled scream she flung it from her while the candle fell from her nerveless fingers and went out, leaving her in the dark.
The stain on the handkerchief was blood!