Breathless, she listened.

Not a sound.

Then, Matilda at her heels, she began to creep down the stairway--slowly--slowly--putting each foot down with the softness of a closing lip--pausing with straining ears on every tread.
With up-pressing feet she glided by the door within which Mr.Pyecroft lay in untroubled sleep, then started by the room that homed Jack and Mary, creeping with the footsteps of a disembodied spirit, fearful every second lest some door might spring open and wild alarms ring out.
But she got safely by.

Then, more rapidly, yet still as noiseless as a shadow's shadow, she crept on down--down--until she came to her own door.

Here the attending Matilda silently vanished.