She listened.
The house was still as the grave. Not a sound from all the world
outside, except the striking of a fire alarm for the seventh district.
The deep notes vibrated upon her quickened hearing like a knell.
Then she remembered that, in the vision, the light had disappeared. Here
it was gleaming under her door as brightly as ever. "Pshaw! what a silly
girl I am!" said she. "It was a nightmare. That's all." She raised her
hands to her face. It was hot and dripping.
"Father prescribed too large a dose of blankets. No wonder I had this
horrid dream."
But, notwithstanding the presence of the light, and the absence of all
noise, such as would be caused by the murderer in leaving the room and
going down stairs, the impression of this tragic vision upon her mind
was not to be dismissed with a "Pshaw!"
Pet would have derived much relief from opening the door and looking in,
and seeing, with her own waking eyes, that her father was alive, at his
usual seat in the corner. She placed her hand upon the latch.
But then she remembered how her father had laughed at her, two or three
times before, when she was a younger girl, and not so wise as now, and
had rushed into his room screaming with fright from a nightmare.
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