"Hush!" he exclaimed.
We listened. The screaming boots were remounting the stairs. The visitor had got over the personality, and was coming back. "What should be done? I am no coward; I've said so before; but I seriously thought of running to, shutting, fastening, and setting chairs against the door. But I did not move. The footsteps approached, and then began to recede again. This suspense of the interest—or, rather, dragging out of it—was most tormenting. What if he should go on walking all night? But the steps were ere long heard once more coming near the room, and once more the visitor stood at the door. But he did not enter now. He looked steadfastly towards us; beckoned slowly; then, turning, began to leave us again. I drew a long, well-satisfied breath as he disappeared and leaned back on the sofa.
"I trust he's gone for good now," I said.
"He beckoned. We must follow," said Le Brun.
"Follow! Pooh, pooh!" I exclaimed. "Let us sit still and be glad."
"Not I," was his brave response. "Be he man, or be he——"
"Hush!" I cried. "He may hear. He doesn't like the word——"
"I do not understand the impulse," said Le Brun; "but we must follow."
"I do not feel the impulse," I rejoined. "Still, if you do, and obey it, I will not desert you."
"Come," he answered. And with quick steps we chased the vocal boots down the corridor, and ere long saw the wearer of them, having descended the stairs, cross the hall, and wait at the door of the house.