On the third night they put-up at the comfortable old inn called the
Three Nuns. With an effort they might easily have pushed on to Mardykes
Hall that night, for the distance is not more than five-and-thirty
miles. But, considering her sister's health, Lady Walsingham in planning
their route had resolved against anything like a forced march.
Here the ladies took possession of the best sitting-room; and, notwithstanding the fatigue of the journey, Lady Haworth sat up with her sister till near ten o'clock, chatting gaily about a thousand things.
Of the three sisters, Lady Walsingham was the eldest. She had been in
the habit of taking the command at home; and now, for advice and
decision, her younger sisters, less prompt and courageous than she, were
wont, whenever in her neighbourhood, to throw upon her all the cares and
agitations of determining what was best to be done in small things and
great. It is only fair to say, in addition, that this submission was not
by any means exacted; it was the deference of early habit and feebler
will, for she was neither officious nor imperious.
It was now time that Lady Haworth, a good deal more fatigued than her
sister, should take leave of her for the night.
Accordingly they kissed and bid each other good-night; and Lady
Walsingham, not yet disposed to sleep, sat for some time longer in the
comfortable room where they had taken tea, amusing the time with the
book that had, when conversation flagged, beguiled the weariness of the
journey. Her sister had been in her room nearly an hour, when she became
herself a little sleepy. She had lighted her candle, and was going to
ring for her maid, when, to her surprise, the door opened, and her
sister Lady Haworth entered in a dressing-gown, looking frightened.
"My darling Mary!" exclaimed Lady Walsingham, "what is the matter? Are
you well?"
"Yes, darling," she answered, "quite well; that is, I don't know what is
the matter—I'm frightened." She paused, listening, with her eyes turned
towards the wall. "O, darling Maud, I am so frightened! I don't know
what it can be."
"You must not be agitated, darling; there's nothing. You have been
asleep, and I suppose you have had a dream. Were you asleep?"
Lady Haworth had caught her sister fast by the arm with both hands, and
was looking wildly in her face.
"Have you heard nothing?" she asked, again looking towards the wall of
the room, as if she expected to hear a voice through it.
"Nonsense, darling; you are dreaming still. Nothing; there has been
nothing to hear. I have been awake ever since; if there had been
anything to hear, I could not have missed it. Come, sit down. Sip a
little of this water; you are nervous, and over-tired; and tell me
plainly, like a good little soul, what is the matter; for nothing has
happened here; and you ought to know that the Three Nuns is the quietest
house in England; and I'm no witch, and if you won't tell me what's the
matter, I can't divine it."
"Yes, of course," said Mary, sitting down, and glancing round her
wildly. "I don't hear it now; you don't?"
"Do, my dear Mary, tell me what you mean," said Lady Walsingham kindly
but firmly.
Lady Haworth was holding the still untasted glass of water in her hand.
"Yes, I'll tell you; I have been so frightened! You are right; I had a
dream, but I can scarcely remember anything of it, except the very end, when I wakened. But it was not the dream; only it was connected with what terrified me so. I was so tired when I went to bed, I thought I should have slept soundly; and indeed I fell asleep immediately; and I must have slept quietly for a good while. How long is it since I left you?"
"More than an hour."