thought he, "she has finished playing and gone away again
with the wind." This was an encouraging idea, and though his knees
trembled a good deal, he went on bravely until he came to the place
where the stairs took a sudden sharp turn; but here he saw something
which brought him to a standstill again, for underneath the garret door
at the top there was a faint gleam of light. "That's the glowworms,"
thought Ambrose, "and she's there still." His spirits sank.

_Could_ he go on? It must be now or never. With a tremendous effort he
went quickly up the remaining steps, stood on tiptoe to unlatch the
door, and pushed it open. It swung back with a creak upon its rusty
hinges, and a cold wind rushed in Ambrose's face, for the window was
open. The room was faintly lighted, not with glowworms, but by the pale
rays of a watery moon, which made some of the objects whitely distinct,
and left others dark and shadowy. Standing motionless on the threshold,
Ambrose turned his eyes instinctively to the corner where the harp was
dimly visible. There was certainly no one playing it, but as he looked
he heard a faint rustle in that direction. What was it? Again it came,
this time louder, with a sound like the flapping of feathers. Could it
be the Goblin Lady? But Pennie never said she had wings. Unable to go
either backwards or forwards, Ambrose remained rooted to the spot with
his eyes fixed on the mysterious corner. Rustle, rustle, flap, flap,
went the dreadful something, and presently there followed a sort of low
hiss. At the same moment a sudden gust of wind burst through the window
and banged the door behind him with a resounding clap. Panic-stricken
he turned and tried to open it, but his cold trembling fingers could not
move the rusty fastening. He looked wildly round for a means of escape,
and his eye fell on a bright ray of moonlight resting on the lattice
window. He rushed towards it, scrambled up on to a box, from thence to
the window-ledge, and thrust himself through the narrow opening. If the
thing came after him now, he could go no further than the balustrade,
unless he jumped down into the garden, "and that would kill me," he
thought, "Pennie has often said so."

He stood on the rough tiles, holding on to the iron window frame with
one hand; behind him the dark garret, where the thing still flapped and
rustled, and before him the sloping roof, the tall chimneys, the garden
beneath, partly lighted up by t