bed. And even then I could not move nor cry out. Presently the person
spoke; but I do not know what she said, though it was only a word or
two: but the voice came from high up, as almost from the canopy of the
bed, and it was the voice of an old woman, speaking in a kind of
whisper. I said nothing; for I could not: and then again the steps moved
across the floor, and out of the door; and I heard the latch shut again;
and then they passed away down the stairs."

My Cousin Dorothy was pale as death by this time; and her blue eyes were
set wide open. I made to take her by the hand; but I did not.

"You were dreaming," I said; "it was the memory of the tale you have
heard."

She shook her head; but she said nothing.

"You have never had it before?" I asked.

"Never," she said.

"You must lie in another chamber for a week or two, and forget it."

"I cannot do that," she said. "My father would know of it." And she
spoke so courageously that I was reassured.

"Well; you must cry out if it comes again. You can have your maid to
sleep with you."

"I might do that," she said; and then--