"
They went in after him. I was in the act of following--I had, in
fact, taken a couple of steps towards the French window--when a
slight shiver seemed to run through my hair, and I stood still.
"Little boy!"
The words came in a whisper from the end of the verandah. I stole
back, and, leaning well across the rail, peered around the corner of
the house.
"Little boy!" whispered the voice again, and I saw the little lady of
the graveyard. She was standing close back against the
side-boarding, her body almost flattened against it. "Come," she
whispered, beckoning with a timid glance over her shoulder towards
the rear of the house.
I looked at her for a second or two, and shook my head.
"But you must come," she insisted, still in a whisper, and took a
step or two as if to entice me after her. Then she halted, and,
seeing that I made no motion to follow, came tip-toeing back.
"If you do not come," she said, "he will kill you! He will
sar-tain-ly kill you all!"
She nodded vehemently, and so, after another glance to right and
left, beckoned to me once again. Her face was white, almost as her
muslin frock, and something in it persuaded me to climb over the
verandah-rail and follow her.
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