The Heart of a Mystery

by T. W. Speight

"As you please, madam, as you please," responded the Doctor, as he took himself off in a huff. "Was there ever so much fuss made about an old woman before?" he muttered to himself, shutting the door behind him more noisily than as a medical man he ought to have done.

Miss Letitia's mind wandered a good deal in the course of the day, but towards evening her senses came back to her, clear and fresh, and the feverish symptoms seemed to be abating. Miss Pengarvon did not retire to her own room until past midnight, and then she left her sister in what seemed to be a quiet and refreshing sleep. A light was kept burning in each of the rooms, and the door between was left open.

Miss Pengarvon was thoroughly tired out, and was soon asleep. She awoke with a start and a sudden sensation of fright. The candle was still burning, and the clock on the chimney-piece pointed to half-past two. Everything seemed quiet in the next room, and yet, at the very moment of waking, it had seemed to her that she heard a sound as of someone opening a door. Still listening, she sat up in bed. A cinder or two dropped from the grate in the next room, and then all was silent again.

All at once the flame of the candle seemed to flicker as though caught by a draught of wind. Next moment Miss Pengarvon was out of bed, and an instant later she was in the next room. The candle there was still alight, but her sister's bed was empty, and the door into the corridor was wide open. What had become of Letitia? Whither had she gone?

Pausing only to push her feet into a pair of slippers, and to fling a shawl over her shoulders, Miss Pengarvon passed out into the corridor, holding a candle above her head. All was cold, dark, and silent. She stood for a minute or two, listening intently, then she thought she heard a noise as of a door being opened downstairs. Taking this sound as a guide, she hurried along the corridor and then down the broad, shallow flight of stairs which led to the ground-floor of the old house. Some instinct seemed to direct her steps towards the Green Parlor. There was no light anywhere save that of the candle she carried. The shadows seemed to vanish before her as she advanced, only to crowd more darkly behind her the moment she had passed. Suddenly a plaintive voice was heard speaking in the darkness. "Isabel, Isabel, speak to me again. I cannot find you."

Miss Pengarvon stood stock still for a moment or two and shuddered. Then, hesitating no longer, she strode swiftly forward until she reached the Green Parlor. The door was wide open; she had shut and locked it carefully, as she always did, before retiring for the night. She gazed around with anxious eyes, and for the first moment or two, so faint was the light shed by her candle, it seemed to her that the room was empty, but a second glance revealed to her her sister's figure, clad in a dark-grey dressing-gown, crouching on the floor against the old carved bureau that stood in one corner of the room, with her fevered face pressed to its cold, polished panels. Miss Pengarvon put down her candlestick, walked across the floor, and laid a hand gently on her sister's shoulder.

"Letitia, what are you doing here?" she asked.

Miss Letitia rose to her feet with a sigh, and pushed back her long locks, streaked with grey, which had fallen over her forehead.

"Where is Isabel? I followed her here, and now I can't find her," she said, gazing questioningly at her sister, with eyes that were full of an eager, burning light--the light of fever.

"This is nonsense, Letitia. You have been dreaming. Come back to your room at once," answered Miss Pengarvon, coldly.