“About nothing; as far as I can discover,” said Rachel Craik—“a mere mare’s-nest found by a set of stupid police. Some man—a Mr. Ronald Tower—was supposed to have been murdered, and I was supposed to have some connection with it, though I had never seen the creature in my life. Now the man has turned up safe and sound, and the pack of noodles have at last thought fit to allow a respectable woman to come home to her bed.”
“Oh, how good! Thank heaven! But, you have some one in there with you?”
“In here—where?”
“Why, in the room, aunt.”
“I? No, no one.”
“I am sure I heard—”
“Now, really, you must go to bed, Winifred! What are you doing awake at this hour of the morning, roaming about the house? You were asleep half an hour ago—”
“Oh, then, it was your light I saw in my sleep! I thought I heard a man say: ‘She is the image—’”
“Just think of troubling me with your dreams at this unearthly hour! I’m tired, child; go to bed.”