THAT NIGHT WEEK
DURING the whole of the week, Irene had been thinking every other moment
of her promise to the old lady, although even now she could not feel
quite sure that she had not been dreaming. Could it really be that an
old lady lived up in the top of the house with pigeons and a
spinning-wheel, and a lamp that never went out? She was, however, none
the less determined, on the coming Friday, to ascend the three stairs,
walk through the passages with the many doors, and try to find the tower
in which she had either seen or dreamed her grandmother.
Her nurse could not help wondering what had come to the child--she would
sit so thoughtfully silent, and even in the midst of a game with her,
would so suddenly fall into a dreamy mood. But Irene took care to betray
nothing, whatever efforts Lootie might make to get at her thoughts. And
Lootie had to say to herself, "What an odd child she is!" and give it
up.
At length the long looked-for Friday arrived, and lest Lootie should be
moved to watch her, Irene endeavored to keep herself as quiet as
possible. In the afternoon she asked for her doll's house, and went on
arranging and rearranging the various rooms and their inhabitants for a
whole hour. Then she gave a sigh and threw herself back in her chair.
One of the dolls would not sit, and another would not stand, and they
were all very tiresome. Indeed there was one that would not even lie
down, which was too bad. But it was now getting dark, and the darker it
got the more exited Irene became, and the more she felt it necessary to
be composed.
"I see you want your tea, princess," said the nurse: "I will go and get
it. The room feels close: I will open the window a little. The evening
is mild: it won't hurt you."
"There's no fear of that, Lootie," said Irene, wishing she had put off
going for the tea till it was darker, when she might have made her
attempt with every advantage.
I fancy Lootie was longer in returning than she had intended; for when
Irene, who had been lost in thought, looked up, she saw it was nearly
dark, and at the same moment caught sight of a pair of eyes, bright with
a green light, glowering at her through the open window. The next
instant something leaped into the room. It was like a cat, with legs as
long as a horse's, Irene said, but its body no bigger and its legs no
thicker than those of a cat. She was too frightened to cry out, but not
too frightened to jump from her chair and run from the room.
It is plain enough to every one of my readers what she ought to have
done--and indeed Irene thought of it herself; but when she came to the
foot of the old stair, just outside the nursery door, she imagined the
creature running up those long ascents after her, and pursuing her
through the dark passages--_which, after all, might lead to no tower!_
That thought was too much. Her heart failed her, and turning from the
stair, she rushed along to the hall, whence, finding the front-door
open, she darted into the court, pursued--at least she thought so--by
the creature. No one happening to see her, on she ran, unable to think
for fear, and ready to run anywhere to elude the awful creature with
the stilt-legs. Not daring to look behind her, she rushed straight out
of the gate, and up the mountain. It was foolish indeed--thus to run
farther and farther from all who could help her, as if she had been
seeking a fit spot for the goblin-creature to eat her in at his leisure;
but that is the way fear serves us: it always takes the side of the
thing that we are afraid of.
The princess was soon out of breath with running up hill; but she ran
on, for she fancied the horrible creature just behind her, forgetting
that, had it been after her, such legs as those must have overtaken her
long ago. At last she could run no longer, and fell, unable even to
scream, by the roadside, where she lay for sometime, half dead with
terror. But finding nothing lay hold of her, and her breath beginning to
come back, she ventured at length to get half up, and peer anxiously
about her. It was now so dark that she could see nothing. Not a single
star was out. She could not even tell in what direction the house lay,
and between her and home she fancied the dreadful creature lying ready
to pounce upon her. She saw now that she ought to have run up the stairs
at once. It was well she did not scream; for, although very few of the
goblins had come out for weeks, a stray idler or two might have heard
her. She sat down upon a stone, and nobody but one who had done
something wrong could have been more miserable. She had quite forgotten
her promise to visit her grandmother. A rain-drop fell on her face. She
looked up, and for a moment her terror was lost in astonishment. At
first she thought the rising moon had left her place, and drawn nigh to
see what could be the matter with the little girl, sitting alone,
without hat or cloak, on the dark bare mountain; but she soon saw she
was mistaken, for there was no light on the ground at her feet, and no
shadow anywhere. But a great silvery globe was hanging in the air; and
as she gazed at the lovely thing, her courage revived. If she were but
indoors again she would fear nothing, not even the terrible creature
with the long legs! But how was she to find her way back? What could
that light be? Could it be--? No, it couldn't. But what if it should
be--yes--it must be--her great-great-grandmother's lamp, which guided
her pigeons home through the darkest night! She jumped up: she had but
to keep that light in view, and she must find the house.
Her heart grew strong. Speedily, yet softly, she walked down the hill,
hoping to pass the watching creature unseen. Dark as it was, there was
little danger now of choosing the wrong road. And--which was most
strange--the light that filled her eyes from the lamp, instead of
blinding them for a moment to the object upon which they next fell,
enabled her for a moment to see it, despite the darkness. By looking at
the lamp and then dropping her eyes, she could see the road for a yard
or two in front of her, and this saved her from several falls, for the
road was very rough. But all at once, to her dismay, it vanished, and
the terror of the beast, which had left her the moment she began to
return, again laid hold of her heart. The same instant, however, she
caught the light of the windows, and knew exactly where she was. It was
too dark to run, but she made what haste she could, and reached the gate
in safety. She found the house door still open, ran through the hall,
and, without even looking into the nursery, bounded straight up the
stair, and the next, and the next; then turning to the right, ran
through the long avenue of silent rooms, and found her way at once to
the door at the foot of the tower stair.
When first the nurse missed her, she fancied she was playing her a
trick, and for some time took no trouble about her; but at last, getting
frightened, she had begun to search; and when the princess entered, the
whole household was hither and thither, over the house, hunting for her.
A few seconds after she reached the stair of the tower, they had even
begun to search the neglected rooms, in which they would never have
thought of looking had they not already searched every other place they
could think of in vain. But by this time she was knocking at the old
lady's door.