ascent, until, by a circuitous route, at last she reached, unobserved,
the summit. Before her rose, silent, darkened, and motionless, the
object of her search. Here her courage failed her, with all the
characteristic inconsequence of her sex. A sudden fear of all the
dangers she had safely passed--bears, tarantulas, drunken men, and
lizards--came upon her. For a moment, as she afterward expressed it,
"she thought she should die." With this belief, probably, she gathered
three large stones, which she could hardly lift, for the purpose of
throwing a great distance; put two hair-pins in her mouth; and carefully
re-adjusted with both hands two stray braids of her lovely blue-black
mane, which had fallen in gathering the stones. Then she felt in the
pockets of her linen duster for her card-case, handkerchief, pocketbook,
and smelling-bottle, and, finding them intact, suddenly assumed an
air of easy, ladylike unconcern, went up the steps of the veranda,
and demurely pulled the front doorbell, which she knew would not be
answered. After a decent pause, she walked around the encompassing
veranda, examining the closed shutters of the French windows until she
found one that yielded to her touch. Here she paused again to adjust her
coquettish hat by the mirror-like surface of the long sash-window, that
reflected the full length of her pretty figure. And then she opened the
window, and entered the room.

Although long closed, the house had a smell of newness and of fresh
paint, that was quite unlike the mouldiness of the conventional
haunted house. The bright carpets, the cheerful walls, the glistening
oil-cloths, were quite inconsistent with the idea of a ghost. With
childish curiosity, she began to explore the silent house, at first
timidly,--opening the doors with a violent push, and then stepping
back from the threshold to make good a possible retreat,--and then more
boldly, as she became convinced of her security and absolute loneliness.