He carried out the cradle.  The child slept sweetly through it all.

Rose darted into Josephine’s room, took the key from the inside to the outside, locked the door, put the key in her pocket, and ran down to her mother’s room; her knees trembled under her as she went.

Meantime, Jacintha, sleeping tranquilly, suddenly felt her throat griped, and heard a loud voice ring in her ear; then she was lifted, and wrenched, and dropped.  She found herself lying clear of the steps in the moonlight; her head was where her feet had been, and her candle out.

She uttered shriek upon shriek, and was too frightened to get up.  She thought it was supernatural; some old De Beaurepaire had served her thus for sleeping on her post.  A struggle took place between her fidelity and her superstitious fears.  Fidelity conquered.  Quaking in every limb, she groped up the staircase for her candle.

It was gone.

Then a still more sickening fear came over her.

What if this was no spirit’s work, but a human arm—­a strong one—­some man’s arm?

Her first impulse was to dart up the stairs, and make sure that no calamity had befallen through her mistimed drowsiness.  But, when she came to try, her dread of the supernatural revived.  She could not venture without a light up those stairs, thronged perhaps with angry spirits.  She ran to the kitchen.  She found the tinderbox, and with trembling hands struck a light.  She came back shading it with her shaky hands; and, committing her soul to the care of Heaven, she crept quaking up the stairs.  Then she heard voices above, and that restored her more; she mounted more steadily.  Presently she stopped, for a heavy step was coming down.  It did not sound like a woman’s step.  It came further down; she turned to fly.

“Jacintha!” said a deep voice, that in this stone cylinder rang like thunder from a tomb.

“Oh! saints and angels save me!” yelled Jacintha; and fell on her knees, and hid her head for security; and down went her candlestick clattering on the stone.

“Don’t be a fool!” said the iron voice.  “Get up and take this.”

She raised her head by slow degrees, shuddering.  A man was holding out a cradle to her; the candle he carried lighted up his face; it was Colonel Raynal.

She stared at him stupidly, but never moved from her knees, and the candle began to shake violently in her hand, as she herself trembled from head to foot.

Then Raynal concluded she was in the plot; but, scorning to reproach a servant, he merely said, “Well, what do you kneel there for, gaping at me like that?  Take this, I tell you, and carry it out of the house.”

He shoved the cradle roughly down into her hands, then turned on his heel without a word.

Jacintha collapsed on the stairs, and the cradle beside her, for all the power was driven out of her body; she could hardly support her own weight, much less the cradle.