John strode across the room, and lit the gas. Turning to Annie,
one of the housemaids, he sent her downstairs to the dining-room
for brandy. Then he went across to his mother whilst I unbolted
the door that gave on the corridor.

I turned to Lawrence, to suggest that I had better leave them now
that there was no further need of my services, but the words were
frozen on my lips. Never have I seen such a ghastly look on any
man's face. He was white as chalk, the candle he held in his
shaking hand was sputtering onto the carpet, and his eyes,
petrified with terror, or some such kindred emotion, stared
fixedly over my head at a point on the further wall. It was as
though he had seen something that turned him to stone. I
instinctively followed the direction of his eyes, but I could see
nothing unusual. The still feebly flickering ashes in the grate,
and the row of prim ornaments on the mantelpiece, were surely
harmless enough.

The violence of Mrs. Inglethorp's attack seemed to be passing.
She was able to speak in short gasps.

"Better now--very sudden--stupid of me--to lock myself in."

A shadow fell on the bed and, looking up, I saw Mary Cavendish
standing near the door with her arm around Cynthia. She seemed
to be supporting the girl, who looked utterly dazed and unlike
herself. Her face was heavily flushed, and she yawned
repeatedly.

"Poor Cynthia is quite frightened," said Mrs. Cavendish in a low