ry minute he
saw moving figures; but the figures always resolved themselves into
nothing when he looked closely.

He began to wonder how far it was safe to go, and why the governess had
arranged for the door to be opened--for he felt sure it was she who had
done this, and that it was all right for him to come out. Fright, she
had said, was never about in the daylight. But, at the same time,
something warned him to be ready at a moment's notice to turn and dash
up the stairs again to the room where he was at least comparatively
safe.

So he moved along very quietly and very cautiously. He passed many rooms
with the doors open--all empty and silent; some of them had tables and
chairs, but no sign of occupation; the grates were black and empty, the
walls blank, the windows unshuttered. Everywhere was only silence and
shadows; there was no sign of the frightened children, or of where they
lived; no trace of another staircase leading to the region where the
governess went when she disappeared down the ladder through the
trap-door--only hushed, listening, cold silence, and shadows that seemed
for ever shifting from place to place as he moved past them. This
illusion of people peering at him from corners, and behind doors just
ajar, was very strong; yet whenever he turned his head to face them, lo,
they were gone, and the shadows rushed in to fill their places.

The spell of the Empty House was weaving itself slowly and surely about
his heart.

Yet he went on pluckily, full of a dreadful curiosity, continuing his
search, and at length, after passing through another gloomy passage, he
was in the act of crossing the threshold of an open door leading out
into the courtyard, when he stopped short and clutched the door-posts
with both hands.

Some one had laughed!

He turned, trying to look in every direction at once, but there was no
sign of any living being. Yet the sound was close beside him; he could
still hear it ringing in his ears--a mocking sort of laugh, in a harsh,
guttural voice. The blood froze in his veins, and he hardly knew which
way to turn, when another voice sounded, and his terror disappeared as
if by magic.

It was Miss Lake's voice calling to him over the banisters at the top of
the house, and its tone was so cheerful that all his courage came back
in a twinkling.

"Go out into the yard," she called, "and play in the sunshine. But don't
stay too long."

Jimbo answered "All right" in a rather feeble