This time she resolved on telling Miss Hofland. It was impossible to live under the spell of this terror. She must, at least--she must--have somebody to share it; and insensibly she began to hope that perhaps Miss Hofland, being older, and having seen so much in her life, might be able to suggest some explanation, and clear the mystery up. Hetty slept little that night. Her resolution gave her a little steadiness, but it did not restore her calm; and in the dawn of the winter morning she was up before any one, unable to rest. When there was something like daylight in the grey skies, a ghost of morning just making the garden and its formal flower-beds visible, she stole again to her window; and finally, encouraged by the hour, and the consciousness that, though there was still so little light, it was day and not night that was approaching, opened it softly and stole out. The rain had ceased, but everything was sodden and wet, her foot sinking into the spongy grass, which came close up to the window ledge. There was nothing there that could conceal any lurking figure. If there had been anything, any clandestine visitor, whoever it was must have crouched by the wall, close, close to where she stood within. Hetty thought she saw some of the moss upon the wall scraped away as by some one rubbing against it; and her heart sprang up once more with the flutter of terror to think of this possibility. Only the wall between her--so young, so frightened, and helpless--and that presence, whether spirit or man, whatever it was. It was all she could do to stand upon her trembling limbs and keep upright, though it was now morning and no longer dark. And when suddenly something appeared round the corner of [Illustration: “I FEAR I HAVE DISTURBED YOU” (_p. 243_).] the house, a dark figure making its way towards her, she could not restrain a scream as she flew back to the shelter of her window. Quick as her movements were, she was not quick enough, however, to elude this presence; and Hetty’s fear gave place to a stupefied astonishment when she recognised the doctor, Mr. Darrell, who touched her shoulder, and called her by her name. “Let me speak to you a moment,” he said, breathlessly. “I fear I have disturbed you--perhaps more than once.” “You!” was all that Hetty could say, panting with fright, relief, and profound surprise above all. He was in his usual dress, looking somehow as if he had not taken it off all night, and looked harassed and pale. “Yes,” he said. “I was afraid you had seen me, and might be frightened. I have a patient with whom I have to be at all hours, both night and day; who is not quite sane but quite harmless. Forgive me; and might I ask you not to speak of it to frighten the house?” [Illustration] CHAPTER XVII. SHUTTING UP.