Clara held to her resolve. She led Jane into the bedroom, then, with
a parting shot at Miss Peckover, herself entered and locked the
door.
'Drink some water, Jane,' she said, doing her best to reassure the
child. 'You're safe for to-night, and we'll see what Mrs. Peckover
says about this when she comes back to-morrow.'
Jane looked at her rescuer with eyes in which eternal gratitude
mingled with fear for the future. She could cry now, poor thing, and
so little by little recover herself. Words to utter her thanks she
had none; she could only look something of what she felt. Clara made
her undress and lie down with little Tom on the mattress. In a
quarter of an hour the candle was extinguished, and but for the
wind, which rattled sashes and doors, and made ghostly sounds in the
chimneys, there was silence throughout the house.
Something awoke Clara before dawn. She sat up, and became aware that
Jane was talking and crying wildly, evidently re-acting in her sleep
the scene of a few hours ago. With difficulty Clara broke her
slumber.
'Don't you feel well, Jane?' she asked, noticing a strangeness in
the child's way of replying to her.
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