Gibbons continued her rambles alone. She had
explored the lower premises, and was leisurely examining a handsomely
furnished apartment on the top floor, when, in crossing from one side
of the room to the other, she ran into something. She looked
down--nothing was to be seen. Amazed beyond description, she thrust
out her hands, and they alighted on an object, which she had little
difficulty in identifying. It was an enormous cask or barrel lying in
a horizontal position.
She bent down close to where she felt it, but she could see
nothing--nothing but the well-polished boards of the floor. To make
sure again that the barrel was there, she gave a little kick--and drew
back her foot with a cry of pain. She was not afraid--the sunshine in
the room forbade fear--only exasperated. She was certain a barrel was
there--that it was objective--and she was angry with herself for not
seeing it. She wondered if she were going blind; but the fact that
other objects in the room were plainly visible to her, discountenanced
such an idea. For some minutes she poked and jabbed at the Thing, and
then, seized with a sudden and uncontrollable panic, she turned round
and fled. And as she tore out of the room, along the passage and down
the seemingly interminable flight of stairs, she heard the barrel
behind her in close pursuit-bump--bump--bump!
At the foot of the staircase Mrs. Gibbons met her cousin, and, as she
clutched the latter for support, the barrel shot past her, still
continuing its descent--bump--bump--bump! (though the steps as far as
she could see had ended)--till the sounds gradually dwindled away in
the far distance.
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