He paused. Grace had started, and now looked up at him with a curious expression, in which anger, mirth, and fear seemed struggling for the upper hand. Before she could reply, a terrific scream rang through the gallery, startling the whole party. Turning, they saw Jean, who had run on before the rest in her eagerness to explore, standing at the farther end of the corridor, with open mouth and staring eyes, the very image of terror.
"My dear child," cried Margaret, running toward her, "what is it? Are you hurt?"
"What is it, Jeanie?" said Peggy, who was the first to reach her sister, and already had her in her arms. "Jean, don't gasp so! You have seen something; is that it? Margaret, what did I always tell you?"
Jean nodded, still gasping, and clung to Peggy with eager, trembling hands. "Oh!" she moaned. "Peggy, save me! take me away! the closet; oh, the closet!"
"What closet, dear? This one? Why, this is the broom closet. There is nothing here to frighten you, Jean."
"The woman!" murmured Jean. "The dreadful dead woman! Peggy, I saw her eyes, and her long hair. Oh, I shall die, I know I shall!"
"Oh, you poor lamb!" cried Margaret, laughing in spite of her compassion. She hurried to the closet and flung the door wide open. "It is only Mrs. Body!" she said. "Come and look again, Jean; it is the lay-figure, dear, nothing else in the world."
"Lay figure?" faltered Jean, still trembling and hanging back.
"Yes, the model. Grandmother Montfort used to paint a great deal, and she had this creature made to stand for the figure. Come and look at it, dear child."
Gently and persuasively she drew the trembling girl forward; the others all pressed behind her.