"What?" asked Miss Larpent.
"Oh, I don't know—obstinate, I suppose. Sit down, Miss Larpent, and hear our story. Leila, you can tell it."
I did so—first obtaining a promise of secrecy, and making Phil relate his own experience.
Our new confidante listened attentively, her face very grave. When she had heard all, she said quietly, after a moment's silence:—
"It's very strange, very. Philip, if you will wait till to-morrow night, and I quite agree with Leila that you had better do so, I will sit up with you. I have pretty good nerves, and I have always wanted an experience of that kind."
"Then you don't think it is a trick?" I said eagerly. I was like Dormer, divided between my real underlying longing to explain the thing, and get rid of the horror of it, and a half childish wish to prove that I had not exaggerated its ghastliness.
"I will tell you that the day after to-morrow," she said. I could not repress a little shiver as she spoke.
She had good nerves, and she was extremely sensible.
But I almost blamed myself afterwards for having acquiesced in the plan. For the effect on her was very great. They never told me exactly what happened; "You know," said Miss Larpent. I imagine their experience was almost precisely similar to Dormy's and mine, intensified, perhaps, by the feeling of loneliness. For it was not till all the rest of the family was in bed that this second vigil began. It was a bright moonlight night—they had the whole thing complete.
It was impossible to throw off the effect; even in the daytime the four of us who had seen and heard, shrank from the gallery, and made any conceivable excuse for avoiding it.