Tadman's
arm.
"Hark!" she said, in a frightened, breathless way; "did you hear that?"
"What, child?"
"Did you say there was no one in there--no one?"
"Lord bless your heart, no, Miss Carley, nor ever is. What a turn you did
give me, grasping hold of my arm like that!"
"I heard something in there--a footstep. It must be the servant."
"What, Martha Holden! I should like to see her venturing into any room
Stephen keeps private to himself. Besides, that door's kept locked; try
it, and satisfy yourself."
The door was indeed locked--a door with a clumsy old-fashioned latch,
securely fastened by a staple and padlock. Ellen tried it with her own
hand.
"Is there no other door to the room?" she asked.
"None; and only one window, that looks into the wood-yard, and is almost
always blocked up with the wood piled outside it. You must have heard the
muslin bags of seed blowing about, if you heard anything."
"I heard a footstep," said Ellen firmly; "a human footstep. I told you
the house was haunted, Mrs. Tadman."
"Lor, Miss Carley, I wish you wouldn't say such things; it's enough to
make one's blood turn cold. Do come downstairs and have a cup of tea.
It's quite dark, I declare; and you've given me the shivers with your
queer talk."
"I'm sorry for that; but the noise I heard must have been either real or
ghostly, and you won't believe it's real.
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