He
stepped through the door, knocking Beatrice's feet against the framework
as he did so, closed it--to shut it he had no time--and stood gasping
behind it.
The gleam of light drew nearer. Merciful powers! he had been seen--the
old man was coming in. What could he say? Tell the truth, that was
all; but who would believe such a story? why, it was one that he should
scarcely care to advance in a court of law. Could he expect a father to
believe it--a father finding a man crouched like a thief behind a door
at the dead of night with his lovely daughter senseless in his arms? He
had already thought of going straight to Mr. Granger, but had abandoned
the idea as hopeless. Who would believe this tale of sleep-walking?
For the first time in his life Geoffrey felt terribly afraid, both for
Beatrice and himself; the hair rose on his head, his heart stood still,
and a cold perspiration started on to his face.
"It's very odd," he heard the old man mutter to himself; "I could almost
swear that I saw something white go into that room. Where's the handle?
If I believed in ghosts--hullo! my candle has blown out! I must go and
hunt for a match.
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