The Hawthorns | Page 9

conclusion before, with a tremendous whirring noise,
something came banging up against the shut part of the window from
within the garret. Ambrose gave one wild scream, let go his hold, and
went rolling over and over quicker and quicker, down--down--down.
CHAPTER THREE.
GOBLINET.
He remembered nothing more until he woke up that night in his own
little bed with a very confused feeling that something dreadful had
happened, though he could not think what it was. There was a light in
his room, which was strange too, and presently he saw that Nurse was
sitting there with her spectacles on, nodding sleepily over a book. What
could it mean? He clasped his head with both hands, and tried to
remember; but it was startling to find that there was a wet bandage
round it, and inside it there was a dull throbbing ache, so he soon gave
up trying and lay quietly with his eyes fixed on Nurse, and the funny
shadow she made on the wall. At last she gave a most tremendous nod,
which knocked off her spectacles, and then she gathered herself up and
opened her eyes very wide. Presently she came to the bed with a glass
in her hand and leant over Ambrose to see if he was awake; he drank
what she gave him eagerly, for he was thirsty, and as he lay down again
he said with an effort:
"I think I've had a very bad dream, Nurse, and my head does ache so."
"Well, you're safe and sound now, my lamb," she answered, patting his
shoulder soothingly; "just you turn round and go to sleep again."
Still puzzled Ambrose closed his eyes, and wondered vaguely for a few
minutes why Nurse called him "lamb." She had not done it since he had
the measles, so he supposed he must be ill; but he did not feel at all

equal to asking questions about anything, and was soon fast asleep
again.
But this was the beginning of many weary days and nights for poor
little Ambrose. When the doctor came the next day he looked gravely at
Mrs Hawthorn.
"The child is in a high fever," he said, "and has had, I should think,
some great nervous shock. Great care and quiet are needed. Let him
sleep as much as possible."
But that was the difficulty, for, as time went on, Ambrose seemed less
and less able to sleep quietly at night. As evening drew on the fever and
restlessness increased; he could not bear to be left alone a moment, and
often in the night he would start up and cry out trembling:
"Take her away." "She is coming." "Don't let her catch me."
It was most distressing for everyone and puzzling too, for no one could
imagine what it was that had frightened him in the garret, or how he
came to be there at all at that time in the evening. It was evidently a
most terrible remembrance to him, for he could not bear the least
reference to it, and to question him was a sure way to give him what he
called "bad dreams." So in his presence the subject was dropped; but
Mrs Hawthorn and Nurse did not cease their conjectures, and there was
one person who listened to their conversation with a feeling of the
deepest guilt. This was Pennie, who just now was having a most
miserable time of it, for she felt that it was all her fault. If she had not
told those stories about the Goblin Lady it never would have happened,
although it certainly was Nancy who had put the garret into Ambrose's
head.
Nancy was the only person she could talk to on the subject, but she was
not any comfort at all.
"Don't let's think about it," she said. "I knew you made it up. I daresay
he'll get better soon."

Poor Pennie could not take matters so lightly; it was a most dreadful
weight on her mind, and she felt sure she should never have another
happy minute till she had confessed about the Goblin Lady. But she
was not allowed to see Ambrose, and she could not bring herself to tell
anyone else about it. Once she nearly told mother, and then something
stuck in her throat; and once she got as far as the study door with the
intention of telling father, but her courage failed her and she ran away.
She would creep to Ambrose's door and listen, or peep round the screen
at him while he was asleep, and her face got quite thin and pointed with
anxiety. Every morning she asked:
"Is he better, mother? May I go and sit with him?" But the answer
always was:
"Not to-day, dear. We hope he is