She half raised herself again, in anger.
“A secret with you, sir!”
“But, besides, Lady Alice,” I cried, springing to my feet, in distress, “I heard the horse with the clanking shoe, and I caught you up in terror and fled with you, almost before I knew what I did. And I hear it now—I hear it now!”
The angry glow faded from her face, and the paleness grew almost ghastly with dismay.
“Do you hear it!” she said, throwing back the coverings I had laid over her, and rising from the couch. “I do not.”
She stood listening, with wide distended eyes, as if they were the gates by which such sounds could enter.
“I do not hear it,” she said, after a pause; “it must be gone now.” Then, turning towards me, she laid her hand on my arm, and looked at me. Her black hair, disordered and entangled, wandered all over her white robe down to her knees. Her face was paler than ever, and she fixed her dark eyes on mine, so wide open that I could see the white all round the unusually large iris.
“Did you hear it? No one ever heard it before but me. I must forgive you—you could not help it. I will trust you too. Help me to my room.”
Without a word of reply, I took my plaid and wrapped it about her; prevailed upon her to put on a pair of slippers which I had never worn; and, opening the doors, led her out of the room, aided by the light of my bedroom candle.
“How is this? Why do you take me this way! I do not know this part of the house in the least.”