He sprang up the narrow stairs that had grown so familiar to him the
past week, watching anxiously the crack under the door to see if there
was a light. But it was all dark! He tapped at the door lightly. But of
course she would have gone to bed at once after the exertion of the
journey! He tapped louder, and held his breath to listen. But no answer
came!
Then he tapped again, and called, in half-subdued tones: "Miss
Brentwood! Are you there?"
A stir was heard at the other end of the hall, the sound of the
scratching of a match. A light appeared under the door of the front
room, the door opened a crack, and a frowsy head was thrust out, with a
candle held high above it, and eyes that were full of sleep peering
into the darkness of the hall.
"Has Miss Brentwood returned? Have you seen her?" he asked.
"Not as I knows on, she 'ain't come," said a woman's voice. "I went to
bed early. She might ov and I not hear her, she's so softly like."
"I wonder if we could find out? Would you mind coming and trying?"
The woman looked at him keenly. "Oh, you're the young feller what come
to the fun'rul, ain't you? Well, you jest wait a bit an' I'll throw
somethin' on an' come an' try." The woman came in an amazing costume of
many colors, and called and shook the door. She got her key and unlocked
the door, stepping cautiously inside and looking about. She advanced,
holding the candle high, Courtland waiting behind.
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