“Pooh, pooh, my dear William, get back to your room. It is all a fancy. I’ve been here in bed for an hour or more, reading my dear father’s sermon on the Woman of Endor.”
There she was, sitting up in a flannel dressing-gown, with the sometime dean’s large and legible manuscript before her, and no doubt investigating, with the lights thrown by Elihu Bung, the phenomena in which the witch of those remote times dealt.
“I heard you talk a little time ago,” said Aunt Dinah, after a short and curious stare at William’s pallid countenance.
“No,” said William, “I didn’t; I heard it too. It was that in fact that partly alarmed me. It is very odd.”
“Were there knockings?” inquired she.
“No, no knocking,” said William; “it opened with a push.”
“What, my dear?” demanded Aunt Dinah, sitting very erect as she gazed with a dark curiosity in William’s face, and abandoned the dean’s manuscript on the coverlet.
“The door,” he answered. “It is very odd. It’s the most horrid thing I ever heard of. I’m sorry I slept in that room.”
