shivered a little as he moved his head towards the gallery; "you're not fit for it, and they'd be wanting you to. Wait till the morning and then I'd – I think I'd tell Philip first. You needn't be frightened to-night, sister. It won't stop you sleeping. It didn't me the time I saw it before."
He was right. I slept dreamlessly. It was as if the intense nervous strain of those few minutes had utterly exhausted me.
PART II
Phil is our soldier brother. And there is nothing fanciful about him! He is a rock of sturdy common-sense and unfailing good nature. He was the very best person to confide our strange secret to, and my respect for Dormy increased.
We did tell him – the very next morning. He listened very attentively, only putting in a question here and there, and though, of course, he was incredulous – had I not been so myself? – he was not mocking.
"I am glad you have told no one else," he said, when we had related the whole as circumstantially as possible. "You see mother is not very strong yet, and it would be a pity to bother father, just when he's taken this place and settled it all. And for goodness' sake, don't let a breath of it get about among the servants; there'd be the – something to pay, if you did."
"I won't tell anybody," said Dormy.
"Nor shall I," I added. "Sophy is far too excitable, and if she knew, she would certainly tell Nannie." Nannie is our old nurse.
"If we tell any one," Philip went on, "that means," with a rather irritating smile of self-confidence, "if by any possibility I do not succeed in making an end of your ghost and we want another opinion about it, the person to tell would be Miss Larpent."
"Yes," I said, "I think so, too."
I would not risk irritating him by saying how convinced I was that conviction awaited him as surely it had come to myself, and I knew that Miss Larpent, though far from credulous, was equally far from stupid scepticism concerning the mysteries "not dreamt of" in ordinary "philosophy".
"What do you mean to do?" I went on. "You have a theory, I see. Won't you tell me what it is?"
"I have two," said Phil, rolling up a cigarette as he spoke. "It is either some queer optical illusion, partly the effect of some odd reflection outside – or it is a clever trick."
"A trick!" I exclaimed; "what possible motive could there be for a trick?"
Phil shook his head.
"Ah," he said, "that I cannot at present say."
"And what are you going to do?"
"I shall sit up to-night in the gallery and see for myself."
"Alone?" I exclaimed, with some misgiving. For big, sturdy fellow as he was, I scarcely liked to think of him – of any one– alone with that awful thing.
"I don't suppose you or Dormy would care to keep me company," he replied, "and on the whole I would rather not have you."
"I wouldn't do it," said the child honestly, "not for – for nothing."
"I shall keep Tim with me," said Philip, "I would rather have him than any one."
Tim is Phil's bull-dog, and certainly, I agreed, much better than nobody.
So it was settled.
Dormy and I went to bed unusually early that night, for as the day wore on we both felt exceedingly tired. I pleaded a headache, which was not altogether a fiction, though I repented having complained at all when I found that poor mamma immediately began worrying herself with fears that "after all" I, too, was to fall a victim to the influenza.
"I shall be all right in the morning," I assured her.
I knew no further details of Phil's arrangements. I fell asleep almost at once. I usually do. And it seemed to me that I had slept a whole night when I was awakened by a glimmering light at my door, and heard Philip's voice speaking softly.
"Are you awake, Lel?" he said, as people always say when they awake you in any untimely way. Of course, now I was awake, very much awake indeed.
"What is it?" I exclaimed eagerly, my heart beginning to beat very fast.
"Oh, nothing, nothing at all," said my brother, advancing a little into the room. "I just thought I'd look in on my way to bed to reassure you. I have seen nothing, absolutely nothing."
I do not know if I was relieved or disappointed.
"Was it moonlight?" I asked abruptly.
"No," he replied, "unluckily the moon did not come out at all, though it is nearly at the full. I carried in a small lamp, which made things less eerie. But I should have preferred the moon."
I glanced up at him. Was it the reflection of the candle he held, or did he look paler than usual?
"And," I added suddenly, "did you feel nothing?"
He hesitated.
"It – it was chilly, certainly," he said. "I fancy I must have dosed a little, for I did feel pretty cold once or twice."
"Ah, indeed!" thought I to myself. "And how about Tim?"
Phil smiled, but not very successfully.
"Well," he said, "I must confess Tim did not altogether like it. He started snarling, then he growled, and finished up with whining in a decidedly unhappy way. He's rather upset – poor old chap!"
And then I saw that the dog was beside him – rubbing up close to Philip's legs – a very dejected, reproachful Tim – all the starch taken out of him.
"Good-night, Phil," I said, turning round on my pillow. "I'm glad you are satisfied. To-morrow morning you must tell me which of your theories holds most water. Good-night, and many thanks."
He was going to say more, but my manner for the moment stopped him, and he went off.
Poor old Phil!
We had it out the next morning. He and I alone. He was not satisfied. Far from it. In the bottom of his heart I believe it was a strange yearning for a breath of human companionship, for the sound of a human voice, that had made him look in on me the night before.
For he had felt the cold passing him.
But he was very plucky.
"I'll sit up again to-night, Leila," he said.
"Not to-night," I objected. "This sort of adventure requires one to be at one's best. If you take my advice you will go to bed early and have a good stretch of sleep, so that you will be quite fresh by to-morrow. There will be a moon for some nights still."
"Why do you keep harping on the moon?" said Phil rather crossly, for him.
"Because – I have some idea that it is only in the moonlight that – that anything is to be seen."
"Bosh!" said my brother politely – he was certainly rather discomposed – "we are talking at cross-purposes. You are satisfied – "
"Far from satisfied," I interpolated.
"Well,
