“So must I,” said Jerry; and for a few minutes there was silence.
Then Charlotte looked up again.
“Jerry,” she said, “I wish you hadn’t said that about the ghost at Silverthorns; it makes me shiver. Supposing, just supposing it did go to her, and that she was fearfully frightened, it would seem as if it was our fault somehow.”
“Rubbish!” said Jerry. “It wouldn’t be our fault; we’re not witches. Besides, it’s all nonsense.”
“I wonder if she has ever heard of it,” said Charlotte. “I wonder if there is any truth in it.”
And that evening, when all the family was together in the drawing-room, she spoke of it again to her father.
“Papa,” she said, “do you remember telling us of a haunted room at Silverthorns? Is it really true that there is one?”
“Perfectly true, as I told you, that there is a room which is said to be haunted,” replied her father. “But I personally can’t vouch for anything—at least for very little—beyond that.”
Five, nay six pairs of ears, for Mrs Waldron was nearly as eager on the subject as her children, pricked themselves up at this slight though incautious admission.
”‘Very little,’ you say, papa?” Charlotte exclaimed. “Oh, do tell us what the ‘very little’ is. Who told it you? Did you hear it at first hand, or how? and when? and from whom?”