There was no reply whatever to Janet's gay sally. She entered the summerhouse and, rearranging her candle, opened her book, and went on reading.
Again there was a sound on the island; this time it was the cracking of a bough.
"A bird or a rabbit, or some small inoffensive creature of that sort," murmured the girl; but, for the first time, her heart beat a little more quickly.
"It is absurd," she said to herself. "One would absolutely suppose, to look at me now, that I gave credence to the boys' ridiculous tales. Well, this is a very dull escapade at best, and catch me going in for anything of the kind again. I must make the best of it now, however."
She turned another page of her book, found that the plot was thickening and the situation becoming more exciting, and forgot herself in Miss Neville's sorrows.
She was soon startled back to consciousness of present things, however. She not only heard another bough crack, and a low, thick shrub rustle, but she also distinguished a sure and unmistakable "Whist! whist!" in a man's deep tones. It was plain, therefore, that she was not alone on the island. Even now she was not afraid of the witch; but she had a very substantial fear of human foes, and she already guessed that more than one of Bridget's lawless friends would be quite capable of doing her an ill turn.
With a sudden feeling of satisfaction she remembered that she had a dog-whistle fastened to her watch-chain. If she blew a shrill blast with the whistle it would frighten any concealed enemies away, and bring the boys quickly to her rescue.
She stepped out of the hut, therefore, and put the whistle to her lips.