He had also, lost in the dim mazes of his mind, a consciousness that
there _were_ treasures in the house, and that his mother was placed
there to guard them, and even that he himself shared her duty.
It did not come to him that Mrs. Carter was in pursuit of these
treasures, but he _did_ realise that her presence there amongst them
brought peril to his mother. Moved then by some desperate urgency which
had at its heart his sense that to be left alone in the black passage
was worse than the actual lighted vision of his Terror, he crept with
trembling knees across the passage and through the door.
Inside the room he saw that she had laid the candle upon the piano, and
was bending over a drawer, trying again to fit a key. He stood in the
doorway, a tiny figure, very, very cold, all his soul in his silent
appeal for some help. His Friend _must_ come. He was somewhere there in
the house. "Come! Help me!" The candle suddenly flared into a finger of
light that flung the room into vision. Mrs. Carter, startled, raised
herself, and at that same moment Henry gave a cry, a weak little
trembling sound.
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