“Blame you, my darling,” he uttered with deep feeling.
“I thought of a dreadful story about the bats, that the servants told—I dare say you never heard it; and I kept thinking. ‘Suppose they were at the windows now, behind the blinds.’ And then I was afraid to look at the bed; I fancied I might see—you are laughing!”
Yes, he was smiling; for he knew that these moments of nervous fear are best met jestingly. He made her drink the wine and water, and then he showed her where the bell was, ringing it as he did so. Its position had been changed in some late alterations to the house.
“Your rooms shall be changed to-morrow, Isabel.”
“No, let us remain in these. I shall like to feel that papa was once their occupant. I won’t get nervous again.”
But, even as she spoke, her actions belied her words. Mr. Carlyle had gone to the door and opened it, and she flew close up to him, cowering behind him.
“Shall you be gone very long, Archibald?” she whispered.
“Not more than an hour,” he answered. But he hastily put back one of his hands, and held her tightly in his protecting grasp. Marvel was coming along the corridor in answer to the ring.
“Have the goodness to let Miss Carlyle know that I am not coming down again to-night,” he said.
“Yes, sir.”