But Nancy was indifferent. As they tried these clothes, and
stood back, and stepped forward, and admired and criticised, she was
thinking, "I wish the nursery clock didn't make such a noise."
Her little bedroom next to nurse's large one was a beautiful affair,
with red roses up and down the wall-paper and in and out of the crockery
and round and round the carpet. Her bed was magnificent, with lace and
more roses, and there was a fine photograph of her beautiful mother in a
silver frame on the mantelpiece. But all these things were of little
avail when the dark came. She began to be frightened of the dark.
There came a night when, waking with a suddenness that did of itself
contribute to her alarm, she was conscious that the room was intensely
dark, and that every one was very far away. The house, as she listened,
seemed to be holding its breath, the clock in the nursery was ticking in
a frightened, startled terror, and hesitating, whimsical noises broke,
now close, now distant, upon the silence. She lay there, her heart
beating as it had surely never been allowed to beat before.
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