“Mrs. Merillia. At this hour! Heavens! Is she ill?”
“I don’t know, sir. She keeps ringing; but when I answer it she says, ‘Go away!’ she says. ‘Go—’ she says, sir.”
“How very strange!”
And the Prophet bounded upstairs and arrived at his grandmother’s door just in time to hear her cry out, in reply to poor Mrs. Fancy’s distracted knocking,—
“If you try to break in you will be put in prison at once. I hear assistance coming. I hear the police. Go away, you wicked, wicked man!”
“Grannie!” cried the Prophet through the keyhole. “Grannie, let me in! Grannie! Grannie! Don’t ring! Grannie! Grannie!”
But Mrs. Merillia was now completely out of herself, and her only response to her grandson’s appeal was to place her trembling fingers upon the two bells, and to reply, through their uproar,—
“It is useless for you to say that. I know who you are. I saw you. I shall go on ringing as long as I can stand. I shall die ringing, but I shall never let you in. Go away! Go away!”
“What does she mean?” cried the Prophet, turning to Gustavus.
“I don’t know indeed, sir,” replied the footman, thinking of Mr. Carter’s library. “I couldn’t say indeed, sir.”