The Hawthorns | Page 8

he sat down on the stairs to pass
a few agreeable moments with Kittles, who arched his back and butted
his head against him, and purred his acknowledgments loudly. But
presently, having business of his own, Kittles also passed on his way,
and Ambrose was alone again, sitting solitary with his ruffled head
leaning on one hand. Then the church clock struck eight. In half an
hour it would be bed-time, and his plan not carried out. He must go at
once, or not at all. He got up and went slowly on. Up the stairs, down a
long winding passage, up some more stairs, and across a landing, on to
which the nursery and the children's bedrooms opened. He stopped
again here, for there was a pleasant sound of Dickie and David's voices,
and the splashing of water; but presently he thought he heard Nurse
coming out, and he ran quickly round the corner into a little passage
which led to the foot of the garret stairs. This passage was
dimly-lighted by a small low window, which was almost covered
outside by the thickly growing ivy. Even in the daytime it was very
dusky, and now it was quite dark, but Ambrose knew the way well, and
he groped about with his hands until he came to the steep carpetless
steps. And now his heart began to beat very quickly, for he felt that he
was in the region of mystery, and that anything might happen at any
moment. The wind had dropped, and there was no sound at all to be
heard, though he strained his ears to the utmost for some signs of the
presence of the Goblin Lady.
"Perhaps," thought he, "she has finished playing and gone away again
with the wind." This was an encouraging idea, and though his knees
trembled a good deal, he went on bravely until he came to the place

where the stairs took a sudden sharp turn; but here he saw something
which brought him to a standstill again, for underneath the garret door
at the top there was a faint gleam of light. "That's the glowworms,"
thought Ambrose, "and she's there still." His spirits sank.
Could he go on? It must be now or never. With a tremendous effort he
went quickly up the remaining steps, stood on tiptoe to unlatch the door,
and pushed it open. It swung back with a creak upon its rusty hinges,
and a cold wind rushed in Ambrose's face, for the window was open.
The room was faintly lighted, not with glowworms, but by the pale rays
of a watery moon, which made some of the objects whitely distinct, and
left others dark and shadowy. Standing motionless on the threshold,
Ambrose turned his eyes instinctively to the corner where the harp was
dimly visible. There was certainly no one playing it, but as he looked
he heard a faint rustle in that direction. What was it? Again it came, this
time louder, with a sound like the flapping of feathers. Could it be the
Goblin Lady? But Pennie never said she had wings. Unable to go either
backwards or forwards, Ambrose remained rooted to the spot with his
eyes fixed on the mysterious corner. Rustle, rustle, flap, flap, went the
dreadful something, and presently there followed a sort of low hiss. At
the same moment a sudden gust of wind burst through the window and
banged the door behind him with a resounding clap. Panic-stricken he
turned and tried to open it, but his cold trembling fingers could not
move the rusty fastening. He looked wildly round for a means of escape,
and his eye fell on a bright ray of moonlight resting on the lattice
window. He rushed towards it, scrambled up on to a box, from thence
to the window-ledge, and thrust himself through the narrow opening. If
the thing came after him now, he could go no further than the
balustrade, unless he jumped down into the garden, "and that would kill
me," he thought, "Pennie has often said so."
He stood on the rough tiles, holding on to the iron window frame with
one hand; behind him the dark garret, where the thing still flapped and
rustled, and before him the sloping roof, the tall chimneys, the garden
beneath, partly lighted up by the moon. He could see the nursery
window, too, in an angle of the house, brightly illumined by the
cheerful fire within. Dickie and David were snugly in bed now, warm

and safe, and Nurse was most likely searching everywhere for him. If
they only knew!
"If ever I get back," he said to himself, "I never will try to be brave
again; it's much better to be called a coward always." He had hardly
come to this