That came of mooning about ghosts like a ninny.
She put down the knitting with an exasperated little gesture. Lizzie
had just finished her telephoning and was hanging up the receiver.
"Well, Lizzie?"
"Yes'm," said the latter, glaring at the phone. "That's what he
says--they turned off the lights last night because there was a
storm threatening. He says it burns out their fuses if they leave
'em on in a storm."
A louder roll of thunder punctuated her words.
"There!" said Lizzie. "They'll be going off again to-night." She
took an uncertain step toward the French windows.
"Humph!" said Miss Cornelia, "I hope it will be a dry summer." Her
hands tightened on each other. Darkness--darkness inside this
house of whispers to match with the darkness outside! She forced
herself to speak in a normal voice.
"Ask Billy to bring some candles, Lizzie--and have them ready."
Lizzie had been staring fixedly at the French windows. At Miss
Cornelia's command she gave a little jump of terror and moved closer
to her mistress.
"You're not going to ask me to go out in that hall alone?" she said
in a hurt voice.
It was too much. Miss Cornelia found vent for her feelings in crisp
exasperation.
"What's the matter with you anyhow, Lizzie Allen?"
The nervousness in her own tones infected Lizzie's. She shivered
frankly.
"Oh, Miss Neily--Miss Neily!" she pleaded. "I don't like it! I
want to go back to the city!"
Miss Cornelia braced herself.
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