Where England Sets her Feet by Bernard Capes

One night Brion woke suddenly from a disturbed sleep, and sat up in the dark, his heart thumping. He had been dreaming, and in his dreams it had seemed to him that something shadowy and noiseless had entered by the door, and come and bent above his bed, its features a white blur in a pall of blackness. So strong was his sense of a presence even then in the room, or only recently gone from it, that he held his breath to hearken for any indication of its whereabouts; and so sitting, a little fearful, was presently reassured by the sound of the great door in the hall below being undisguisedly barred and bolted. Whereat, concluding that it was earlier than he had supposed, and that the household was only now making secure for the night, he lay down again, convinced he had been dreaming, and was soon deep in the waters of oblivion.

But the waking morning brought disquiet with it. No Clerivault appeared from the neighbouring closet where he was used to sleep, to attend, as was his wont, upon his young charge, and Brion, after a period of restless waiting, was fain to dress himself, which he did with all speed and in a growing uneasiness. Leaving his room at the end, and going by Clerivault's door, he found it opened, and old Harlock within, feigning to busy herself over the unused bed. But she was there, it was evident by her pretence of answering a question that was not put, to invite comment.