Catherine Jones found her in her bed asleep in the morning after she sulked with you, you know, Miss, with all her clothes on, what-ever was the meaning; and I think she has frightened _you,_ Miss and has you as nervous as anythink--I do,' and so forth.
It was true.

I _was_ nervous, and growing rather more so; and I think this cynical woman perceived and intended it, and was pleased.

I was always afraid of her concealing herself in my room, and emerging at night to scare me.

She began sometimes to mingle in my dreams, too--always awfully; and this nourished, of course, the kind of ambiguous fear in which, in waking hours, I held her.
I dreamed one night that she led me, all the time whispering something so very fast that I could not understand her, into the library, holding a candle in her other hand above her head.

We walked on tiptoe, like criminals at the dead of night, and stopped before that old oak cabinet which my father had indicated in so odd a way to me.