Thunder always makes me drowsy, and I was soon asleep. It must have been near midnight when I waked. The waning moon had risen, and shone full into the chamber and on the door of my mother's oratory. To my utter amazement it opened slowly, and a figure issued therefrom, dressed in my mother's garments, and bearing in one hand a dim light, in the other my old convent dress, which it seemed to hold up reproachfully before my eyes, while it uttered in a hollow whisper these words:
"Wretched, apostate child! Will you doom your own soul and your mother's to the flames of hell forever?"
I was scared at first, I confess—but the moment the apparition spoke, my courage returned, or something which served me instead. I sprang from the bed, and snatching the bed staff which stood near, I rushed at the would-be ghost, which retreated the way it had come with all haste, but not before I had dealt it one sound blow, which fell plainly on corporal substance. I followed the thing into the oratory, but it was nowhere to be seen. By this time I was as cool as possible. I knew there was but one place of concealment, namely a small closet which had no outlet, and finding the key in the oratory door, I quietly locked it on the outside, put the key away, and returned to bed.
The start and exertion brought on my shivering fit, and I was just beginning to get over it a little, when I heard a voice I well knew, but humble and quavering enough.
"Mrs. Rosamond—Oh, Mistress Rosamond—" then as I did not answer—"Oh, Mistress Rosamond, do let me out! There is a storm coming on, and I dare not stay here."
"Who are you?" I asked, trying to speak soberly, though I was choked with laughter.
"I am nobody but Prudence—Prudence, your poor bower-woman. Oh, Mistress Rosamond, do let me out, and I will thank you all my days!"
"I do not believe you!" I said. "Prudence would never play such a wicked, malicious trick, and one too so profane and impious. You are some impudent stroller and thief—an Egyptian, too, for aught I know. You shall stay till morning, and see what measure my Lord and my father will deal out to you."
She still pleaded for mercy, and in tones of such real and abject terror, that I began to fear she might die of fright, and rose to release her; but just as I was striking a light, for the clouds had risen once more, and it was very dark, my stepmother entered the room with a candle in her hand.
"Are you ill, Rosamond—and who were you talking with?" said she, looking around, and naturally surprised to see nobody. "I am sure I heard you talking."