Laudersdale. Here we are; but it's dark as Erebus. Give me your hand;
I'm half afraid; after that spectre that walked the water just now,
these shadows are not altogether agreeable. There's the door,--careful
housekeeper, this Mr. Raleigh! I wonder what McLean would say. Don't
believe he'd like it."
"What made you come, then?" asks Helen, as they step within.
"Oh, just for the frolic; it was getting stupid, too. I suppose we've
ruined our dresses. But there! we must hurry and get back. I didn't
think it would take so long. He can't manage a boat so well as Roger,"
adds Mrs. McLean, in a whisper.
"Goodness!" exclaims Helen. "I can't see an inch of the way. We shall
certainly deal devastation."
"I've been exploring a mantel-shelf; here's a candle, but how to light
it? Haven't you a match, Mr. Laudersdale?"
That gentleman produces one from a little pocket-safe; it proves a
failure,--and so a second, and a third.
"This is the last, Mrs. McLean. Have your candle ready."
The little jet of flame flashes up.
"Quick, Helen! a scrap of paper, quick!"
"I don't know where to find any. Here's a billet on the floor; the
seal's broken; Mr. Raleigh don't read his letters, you know; shall I
take it?"
"Anything, yes! My fingers are burning! Quick, it's the last match!
There!"
Helen waves a tiny flambeau, the candle is lighted, the flame whirled
down upon the hearth and trodden out.
Pages:
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156