So when old Joseph and Bertha had joined them, the whole party set off for the turret.
As they got near to the top of the stair, a slight sound made them all start.
“Hush!” said Miss Hortensia. They stood in perfect silence. It came again—a murmur of faint sobs and weeping. Ulrica grew whiter and whiter.
“I told you so,” she began, but no one listened. They all pressed on, Miss Hortensia the first.
When she opened the door it was, except for the lamp she held in her hand, upon total darkness. But in one corner was heard a sort of convulsive breathing, and then a voice.
“Who’s there? Who’s there? Oh the pain, the cruel pain!”
And there—lying on the same little couch-bed on which years and years ago Miss Hortensia had slept and dreamt of the lovely fairy lady—was Bertrand—weeping and moaning, utterly broken down.
But he turned away sullenly from Miss Hortensia when she leant over him in concern and pity; he would not look at Ruby either, and it was not till after some moments had passed that they at last heard him whisper.
“Mavis, I want to speak to Mavis. Go away everybody. I only want Mavis.”
They all looked at each other in mute astonishment. They thought he was wandering in his mind. But no; he kept to the same idea.