Part 24 (1/2)
”Quite right,” said Peggy. ”Sensible rabbit!”
”And--and I am terribly afraid of snakes--oh, I was sure you would be killed, Peggy!”
”And so you came back to be killed with me? Lobelia, what a foolish girl you are. There, there, don't cry. Why, the snake isn't crying, and he really has been killed.”
”Oh, Peggy, if you had been killed, I should have died. I shouldn't have needed any snake to kill me.”
”Nonsense!” said Peggy, gruffly. ”Lobelia, do stop crying. My goodness gracious _me_, come along, or we shall have them all back again after us. I'm going to bring him too, and get Colney to dry him for me. He's a beauty! look at him, Lobelia! Not look at him? Why, I tell you he's dead, as dead as--who was he?--the Father of Lies! Come along, now.”
CHAPTER XVI.
THE TERROR BY NIGHT.
All was quiet in No. 18, Corridor C. It was the room directly above Peggy; and was tenanted, as we have seen, by Lobelia Parkins. Lobelia was in bed at this moment, though it was before the usual bedtime. She had felt ill and dizzy-brained for several days, and Peggy had begged her to go to bed early and get a good long sleep. Peggy herself lay on a mattress on the floor. It was against the rule, but for once the law-abiding Peggy was wilfully breaking the rule. She felt strong in Miss Russell's confidence in her; and she meant to find out who and what it was that was ”frightening Lobelia silly,” as she expressed it.
Accordingly, here she was, in her wrapper, with a blanket rolled around her. The night was warm, and the window was thrown wide open, Peggy having been brought up to love fresh air. Lobelia s.h.i.+vered, but would rather have frozen stiff than say a word, if Peggy preferred to have the room cold. Each girl hoped the other was asleep. Lobelia hardly dared to breathe; she lay still as a mouse, feeling a delightful sense of comfort and security, such as she had not felt since she came to this nightmare of a place. Not to be alone any more, with the night and the terrible things it brought; to have this friend, so strong, so kind, so helpful, lying close beside the bed, ready to help, to comfort,--Lobelia's poor shrinking spirit took courage, and she held her breath now and then, for the pure pleasure of hearing Peggy's calm, regular breathing. Surely she must be asleep! She could not breathe like that unless she were sleeping quietly. Oh, might nothing happen to break her friend's rest!
Peggy was very nearly asleep, it was true. She had meant to stay awake as long as there was any possibility of any one's coming into the room.
She was valiantly wide awake at first, and lay blinking at the moon, which Was s.h.i.+ning in the most obliging manner full upon the spot where she lay. Peggy wondered what those mountains were like which made the strange figures on the broad, silver disk. They must be tremendous!
Think of them, miles high, with deep, awful valleys between, and all dead and white and dry like bone. And all they seemed to be good for now was for us to make faces and things out of, and stories--to please--the--children. Peggy was getting very sleepy. She opened her eyes wider, and stared harder at the moon. It seemed to be staring back.
They were certainly eyes, not--mountains--and one of them was winking at her; and now she seemed to hear a sound, a voice, coming from far, far--ages away, and saying, whispering--
Then, all in a moment, sleep, and the moon and its mountains were as if they had never been.
The door opened, swiftly and noiselessly, and some one darted in,--a tall, slender figure, with gray drapery over the head and shoulders. It turned and halted, facing the door. Peggy sprang up in bull-dog silence, and was about to fling herself bodily on the intruder; but an arm thrown out, a familiar gesture, a whispered word, checked her, and she stood motionless, hardly drawing breath. Next moment footsteps were heard in the corridor, as of some one hastening, and making every effort to be silent. The door was pushed hastily open, and Miss Pugsley stood on the threshold. She was panting, and her dress was disarranged.
”Ah!” she cried, in a spiteful whisper. ”I have caught you at last, have I? I know you, miss! No need to hide your face! I know you well enough, and this is the end of your fine doings. Lift up that veil, I command you!”
The gray figure advanced toward her one step, and lifted the veil; and even Peggy's stout heart turned to water within her. Miss Pugsley recoiled with a wild shriek from the waxen countenance, the hollow burning eyes, the fleshless, grinning lips; recoiled, staggered, and fled back moaning along the corridor. The gray figure dropped its veil and darted in pursuit. Peggy, running to the door, saw them vanish around the corner; then she returned, to find Lobelia fallen into a dead faint, her head hanging over the side of the bed.
As she bent over her anxiously, rubbing her hands and trying to rouse her, a single board creaked in the corridor; next moment the gray figure entered again, this time quietly and without hurry. The veil was thrown back, revealing a well-known face. The hideous death's head was now carried in the hand.
”Sorry if I alarmed you, Innocent!” said Grace Wolfe. ”What in the name of unreason are you doing here?”
”Oh, Grace, she has fainted!” cried Peggy. ”Help me! Bring some water, do!”
Grace vanished again, and was back in two minutes with water and smelling-salts. As they bent over the unconscious girl, bathing her temples and holding the salts to her nose, a few hurried sentences were exchanged.
”What was it? What have you there, Grace?”
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”'OH, GRACE, SHE HAS FAINTED!'”]
”Oh, nothing; merely Colney's skull; not her own, you understand, but that of her charmer.”
”But--but the eyes glared! I saw them glare, like fire.”
”Phosphorus, my sweet babe! Hast no chemistry to thy name? 'Twere well to mend thy ways.”