"Leila," she whispered, "come with me quickly. I don't want mamma to notice."
For mother was still nervous and delicate.
The drawing-room is very long, and has two or three doors. No-one else was at our end. It was easy to make our way out unperceived. Sophy caught my hand and hurried me upstairs without speaking till we reached my own room, where a bright fire was burning cheerfully.
Then she began.
"Leila," she said, "I have had such an awful fright. I did not want to speak until we were safe up here."
"What was it?" I exclaimed breathlessly. Did I already suspect the truth? I really do not know, but my nerves were not what they had been.
Sophy gasped and began to tremble. I put my arm round her.
"It does not sound so bad," she said. "But—oh, Leila, what could it be? It was in the hall," and then I think she explained how she had come to be there. "I was standing near the side door into the library that we never use—and—all of a sudden a sort of darkness came along the wall, and seemed to settle on the door—where the old tapestry is, you know. I thought it was the shadow of something outside, for it was bright moonlight, and the windows were not shuttered. But in a moment I saw it could not be that—there is nothing to throw such a shadow. It seemed to wriggle about—like—like a monstrous spider, or—" and there she hesitated—"almost like a deformed sort of human being. And all at once, Leila, my breath went and I fell down. I really did. I was choked with cold. I think my senses went away, but I am not sure. The next thing I remember was rushing across the hall and then down the south corridor to the drawing-room, and then I was so thankful to see you there by the piano."
I drew her down on my knee, poor child.
"It was very good of you, dear," I said, "to control yourself, and not startle mamma."