He drew on his little dressing-gown, for he was shivering with cold and
excitement. But his slippers he would not put on. 'I can run so much
faster without them,' he said, speaking to himself in a low voice.
Then he opened the door, crossed the little anteroom, and hesitating
a moment, threw open the large door of the gallery. An instant he
waited before he found courage to look up. Then he did so, with a
half-acknowledged feeling that if anything _too_ appalling met his eye,
he could still rush back into the shelter of his own room.
But all was still, strangely still, and the curious effect of the
moonlight, streaming in, in fitful patches through the coloured windows,
for a moment made him forget his fears in a sort of awe-struck
admiration. It was even stranger than Linda had described it, for the
clouds quickly rushing across the moon, caused a mixture of light and
shadow, coloured by the tints of the glass, like broken and confused
rainbows. And had Denis not been too frightened to look at the faces on
the wall, the effect of this jumble of light and colour and shadow would
have been almost comical.
But a glance was enough. Then literally gathering up his garments--that
is to say, taking the skirts of his dressing-gown in his hands--the poor
little chap dashed into the enemy's country, looking neither to right
nor to left, and ran--his little bare feet making a quick pitter-patter
on the polished floor--ran as if for dear life! Fortunately he did not
stumble: had he done so, I doubt if he would have been able to get up
again--the terrible thought that something had caught him and made him
fall would probably have altogether overcome him--but oh how long the
gallery seemed, and oh how thankful he was to reach the other end and
burst through the swing baize door that closed it!
Here, in the passage, leading to the nursery, all was dark, or seemed so
at first, though as Denis felt his way to the staircase, his eyes got
used to the darkness, and gradually began to discern some light in it.
He knew his way so well that even without this he could have found the
stair; and once on it, a little more light came up from the fanlight on
the top of the garden-door below, and now Prin's voice was heard again,
quite plainly, showing that he was just outside the door, seldom closed
to him, poor little dog, as he was accustomed to come in and out by it
with the children on their way to and from the garden.
'I'm coming, Prin, dear little Prin,' cried Denis, quite brightly and
cheerfully now, as he reached the foot of the stair, and Prin in return
gave a hopeful little bark; 'one moment, dear Prin, till Denis opens
the door for you,' he went on, as he fumbled for the handle, which
he knew he could reach. He reached it, and turned it, but oh, what a
disappointment; the door would not open as it did in the daytime--it was
bolted! At first Denis thought it might be locked, and he felt about for
a key. But there was no key, and peering about in the uncertain light he
saw high up something which looked like a bolt--far too high for him to
reach, and probably too hard for his little hands to pull back. He had
never thought of this, and he was terribly distressed--especially when
another faint whine from Prince seemed to ask why he was so slow. But it
roused him too.
'Poor Prin,' he said, 'Denis can't get the door open. Den will have
to go and get nurse to help. He'll be as quick as he can. Stay there,
dear Prin,' and then he turned to climb the stair again, his feet this
time perfectly numb with cold. He must get up two flights--past the
day-nursery, to where nurse and baby slept, in what was called 'the old
nursery,' a story higher than the other. But so long as there was no
gallery to face, Denis did not seem to mind. He got on all right till he
was crossing the landing or passage on to which the swing-door opened;
then just as he was putting his foot on the first step of the second
flight he was startled by a noise--a sound of footsteps approaching him,
and, oh terror! from the direction of the gallery. In his fear he stood
still, as if not knowing what to do. The steps came nearer and nearer
with a rather slow, dragging sound. Denis still stood as if turned to
stone. The baize door swung open, a light warmer and brighter than the
moon rays gleamed through, and a figure stood full in the boy's sight.
A tall figure, it seemed to him, clothed in yellow, with pale face and
powdered hair, all distinctly seen by the flame of the taper held in
its hand.
'The lady in the yellow satin!' screamed poor Denis; 'oh, it's come
true! She's got out of the frame to catch me. O mother, mother, it's so
dreadful, and I did so try to be brave!'
His eyes closed, his legs gave way, and he half fell forward. What would
have happened I don't know, if a sweet, well-known voice had not reached
his ears.
'Denis, my boy, don't be frightened. Don't you know me? It's your own
old Granny.'
And half-laughing, half-crying, Granny went on talking till the boy took
courage again and opened his eyes.
'Granny!' he said, and then shivering again, seemed as if he could
hardly believe it.
'Yes, dear, Granny, in her old white cashmere dressing-gown. Look, dear,
and see.'
'And white hair, like the picshur,' he said, recovering himself. 'And
what a funny thing on the top of your head, Granny--all
frilly--like'----
'That's my nightcap,' said Granny, now fairly laughing, and then she
went on to explain that from her room, which had an unused door opening
on to the same landing as the boys' room, she had heard him moving
about, and fearing that something was wrong, and knowing the little
fellow to be alone, she had come round by the other way to see.
'For that other door is never opened, and there is a chest of drawers
against it,' she said. 'And when I found there was not a little boy in
bed in your room, I came back to look for him, you see, Denis, and I
thought I heard voices down below. For my ears are sharp still, though
I'm such an old woman.'
'It was me talking to poor Prin,' said Denis. And then in his turn he
had to explain all, and Granny, taking him back with her to her nice
cheerful room where a fire was still burning, rang the bell for her
maid, and in a few minutes poor Prince, the cause of all the upset, was
happily warming himself and forgetting all his troubles on Granny's
hearth-rug.
'I'll go back to bed now, please,' said Denis; 'I'm not a bit frightened
now. I don't fink I'll ever be frightened again,' he added in a
half-whisper, as he bade Granny a second good-night. And you may fancy
how proud he was, when Granny answered, 'Frightened or not, you've shown
yourself my own brave little Denis.'
Mother was told all about it next morning, and of the good fruit her
words had borne. But as she kissed her little boy, she explained to him
and to Nettie, too, that in such a case there would have been no
cowardice in telling her of Denis's fears.
'I would not wish any of you to be tried needlessly, dears, you know,'
she said. 'It would have been easy to put Denis into another room. Still
I am thankful to see that, when there was need, my boy could battle with
his fears and master them.'
But somehow, from that time, the picture gallery ceased to be a place
of terror to Denis. For one thing, Granny pleased herself by showing
him all the old portraits in the bright daytime, and telling him many
interesting and curious stories about their originals, till he got to
have quite a friendly feeling to the bewigged and bepowdered long-ago
ladies and gentlemen. Especially to the lady in the yellow satin dress,
with the mouth like Linda's!
Granny often smiled to herself when she put on her old-fashioned
lace-frilled nightcap, and thought of how she had frightened poor little
Denis. To 'make up,' she said, she gave him a present of Prince to be
his very own; and you may be quite sure he was never again left out in
the cold and snow, and that no dog ever led a happier life than he, in
faithfully serving the brave little master who had overcome his terror,
to do a good and kind action.
THE END.
* * * * *
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End of Project Gutenberg's The Green Casket, by Mary Louisa Molesworth