Pet stooped, and looked through the keyhole.  Within her range were the chair where Marcus Wilkeson had sat that evening, and the nail where—­with bachelor-like precision—­he always hung his hat.  Neither Marcus Wilkeson nor his hat were in their accustomed, places.  “What silly things these dreams are!” thought little Pet.  The keyhole did not command the corner of the room where the machine stood, and where the inventor pondered and toiled; but Pet felt as certain that he was there, coaxing thoughts out of his pale brow with that habitual caress of the hand, as if she had seen him.

“Good night, dear father,” she whispered, softly.  “May Heaven watch over your labors, and keep you from all harm.”

With this pious prayer, she slid into her warm nest.  But, before adjusting her limbs for sleep, she threw off a portion of the heavy blankets which had weighed upon her, and was soon sound asleep, and dreaming of a garden in which all the roses were beautiful new bonnets.

Still the moon played her ghastly metamorphoses in the little chamber.  And the figures on the carpet and the figures on the curtain writhed in horrible contortions of glee, as if they rejoiced over a calamity which had befallen that house.

CHAPTER V.

WHAT THE MORNING BROUGHT.

The child woke about seven o’clock.  She knew the time by the sun’s rays upon the window curtains.  In that strong, cheerful light, the phantom faces had shrunk back to great red bunches of flowers again.  She thought of the absurd dream, or vision, as of something that had happened ages ago, and wondered that she had been foolish enough to be frightened by it.

There was no noise in her father’s room.  But that was not strange, for he rarely retired to bed before three o’clock in the morning (even when he did not sit up all night), and slept till eight.  His sleep, though short, was sound; and it was Pet’s custom to prepare breakfast in her father’s room without waking him.

She washed her face, which looked rosy and bewitching in the little cracked mirror, and dressed her hair in two simple bands down the cheeks, and put on a white calico dress with small red spots, and a white apron bound with blue.  This was the dress that her father loved the best.  She looked in the glass, and examined her damaged reflection with a charming coquetry, and said, “Pet, child, you are looking well to-day.  Now for breakfast.”

Pet walked to the door, humming her last music lesson in a low voice.

She placed her hand upon the latch, and opened the door softly.  As it swung on its hinges, and she began to obtain a glimpse of the room, she noticed the gas still burning, though the daylight filled the apartment.  This was strange.  A shudder passed through her frame, and her cheeks began to pale.

“Pooh! what nonsense!” she said.  She pushed the door wide open.