He exemplified what he meant by rolling up a large comforter knitted in dazzling white wool, quite new and of his Aunt John's choicest manufacture, made expressly for this journey. It was large and soft, and John rolled it close till it became as round and smooth as a bolster, according to his homely simile. "If you will let me," he said, rising, "I think I could place this----" There was an agitated movement inside the draperies, and a voice that made John jump, between a squeak and a scream, came as it seemed out of the top of the misshapen head, "No! no! I cannot be touched. No! no!" It made John jump; but after all, what was a voice any more than the other appearances, to daunt him when he had so honest an intention of doing well? He came a step nearer. "I am sure you will find it more----" "No; keep away! No; keep away!" the voice repeated with shrill decision, not at all softened but made still more bewildering by a sudden tremor at the end. He paused for a moment with his white roll in his hand, and he distinctly saw the veiled figure shake with a strange sort of broken vibration, as if in one access after another of palsy, was it? or, if not, what else? He did not know what else it could be. He stood for a moment wavering, and then he retired and threw down the comforter impatiently upon the seat. "Well," he said, with a sigh also of impatience, "if you won't have it I cannot help it: still I am sure I could have made you more comfortable," he added, recovering his good-humour. And he resumed his book: but his attention was sadly distracted, for that spasmodic movement went on at intervals; and there even broke forth certain stifled sounds--was it moaning, was it the signal of some approaching calamity? He gazed earnestly over the top of his book, with a most compassionate face, and held himself on the alert to give any aid he could. But after a while his apprehensions were quieted: there seemed no reason to suppose that anything was going to happen, and these mysterious movements died away.