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 shivered, 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 shining 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?"
[Illustration: "'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."
"And why--what were you doing, Grace? Oh, see what you have done! Look
at this poor child, and tell me why you came to play such pranks in her
room."
Peggy's voice was stern enough. She forgot her love and admiration for
Grace; she only saw what seemed like wanton cruelty toward a forlorn and
helpless creature, and her blood was up.
Grace shrugged her shoulders.
"I am sorry," she said. "I am even very sorry, Innocent. What more would
you have? I didn't mean to come in; indeed, I had no thought of the
little creature at all. I had a vow that the next time that woman looked
through my keyhole she should repent it. I think she did. If she does it
again, I'll shoot her; I've just told her so."
"Why--how did you know? What did she do?"
"Oh, child, I can't always tell you how I know things. I feel them in my
bones. This is full moon, and it was borne in upon me that she thought I
would be up to something to-night, and would be upon the watch; so I
went on the watch, too. I arranged a pretty scene of confusion in my
room, open window, things all thrown about,--just as it would look if I
had been having a lark; left the light burning, went and borrowed this
soulful smiler, and treated it a little,--no, Colney knows nothing about
it; no use in getting her into trouble; then I took my mosquito-netting
mantle, and hid in the broom-closet near my door. Sure enough, I hadn't
been there long when along comes my Puggy, in felt slippers, and looks
in at my keyhole. I waited, to make sure, then I came gliding past,
without observing her, you see, corridor being pretty dark. She observed
me, however, and pursued. I led her quite a pretty dance, till I thought
her breath would be getting short, and then I turned in here, partly
because it was handy, partly because--well, I have been in the habit of
passing through here, when the kid was asleep. See! she's opening her
eyes. Speak to her, you! She's more used to you."
Peggy lifted Lobelia's head into her lap. "How are you now, dear?" she
asked, stroking the thin hair affectionately. "Lobelia, it's Peggy! You
are all right; there's no one here, no one to hurt you. That--that was
only a trick, Lobelia."
Lobelia moaned, but made no reply. Grace leaned forward. "Peggy is
right," she said, softly. "It was a trick, Lobelia, and not meant for
you at all. I--I never thought about you, I'm afraid. Do you feel better
now? I'm truly sorry, my dear."
There was no answering look of intelligence in Lobelia's face. She lay
shivering, with wide, frightened eyes.
"Oh, Grace, I'm afraid she's ill!" said Peggy. "See! she doesn't seem to
know us. What shall we do? Lobelia! Do look at me! Do speak to me! Oh,
Grace, what shall we do? Where are you going?"
"I am going to call Miss Russell," said Grace.
Miss Russell came presently, and looked very grave when she saw
Lobelia's face, which was now flushed with fever, her eyes still staring
wide, as if they saw some dreadful vision.
"What has happened?" she said, briefly. "I must have the truth!"
Grace told her the truth, every word, not keeping back anything: merely
adding that Peggy had nothing to do with it all.
"And what were you doing here, Peggy?" asked Miss Russell.
Peggy explained. "I meant to tell whatever I found out, to-morrow, Miss
Russell," she added. "I thought you would want me to discover what--what
had been going on."
Miss Russell nodded. "Go to your rooms now, girls," was all she said.
"Or--no; Peggy, ask Miss Cortlandt to send at once for Doctor Hendon.
Grace, you will remain in your room till I come to you."
Grace tried to rise in obedience; but the sick girl grasped her dress,
and held it tight. "Don't leave me," she said, in a hardly audible
whisper.
"You don't want me, you poor thing!" said Grace; and though she spoke
low, her tone was very bitter. "Let me go, and you shall never see me
again. Don't trouble about me, Miss Russell. I'll pack my trunk, and be
off in the morning before any one is awake."
"You will do as I tell you," said Miss Russell, quietly. "Peggy, go
quickly! Now, my poor child, let me take your hand. Move softly, Grace,
and I think you can slip away."
Grace tried once more to loosen the hold of the cramped, skinny hand,
but Lobelia only clutched the tighter; and now, in her delirium, she
caught Grace's hand with her other one, and held it tight, tight. "Don't
leave me!" she muttered. "Peggy, Peggy, don't leave me!"
Upon this, Grace looked up at Miss Russell; the hard, defiant look was
gone, the wild blue eyes were swimming in tears. "Let me stay," she
murmured. "Miss Russell, let me stay with her. I'll go away after she
gets well. She thinks I am Peggy, and you know I am a good nurse. Let
me stay and take care of her, and I will bless you all my life, even if
I never see you again."
"You shall stay," said Miss Russell. "My poor Grace, this may be the
hardest and heaviest punishment I could give you. You shall stay, and
see what your cruel and wilful carelessness has brought to pass. God
help us and you!"