"Oh, Madge, do you think----"
"No, my dear, I don't, or I should be no more desirous of going down than you. I'm only willing to go and see if there is some one there because I'm sure there isn't."
There was not--luckily. There was little conspicuously heroic about the bearing of the young ladies as they descended the stairs to suggest that they would have made short work of any ruthless ruffian who might have been in hiding. About halfway down, Madge gave what was perhaps an involuntary little cough; at which Ella started as if the other had been guilty of a crime; and both paused as if fearful that something dreadful might ensue. The sitting-room door was closed. They hung about the handle as if it had been the entrance to some Bluebeard's den, and unimaginable horrors were concealed within. When Madge, giving the knob a courageous twist, flung the door wide open, Ella's face was pasty white. Both perceptibly retreated, as if expecting some monster to spring out on them. But no one sprang--apparently because there was no one there.
A current of cold air came from the room.
"The window's open."
Ella's voice was tremulous. Her tremor had the effect of making Madge sarcastic.
"That's probably because our visitor opened it. You could hardly expect him to stop to close it, could you?"
She went boldly into the room--Ella hard on her heels. She held the candle above her head--to have it almost blown out by the draught. She placed it on the table.
"If we want to have a light upon the subject, we shall have to shut that window."
She did so. Then looked about her.