WHAT HAPPENED AT THE HAUNTED HOUSE
The moment that Grace left Marian, she set her active brain at work for some solution of the problem she had taken upon her own shoulders. She had no money, and the members of her sorority had none. Besides, Grace inwardly resolved not to tell the other girls were it possible to avoid doing so.
Mrs. Gray would be home before long, and Grace knew that the gentle old lady would gladly advance the money rather than see Marian disgraced. But Eleanor had planned to denounce Marian on Thursday, and it was now Monday.
There was but one course to pursue, and that was to go to Eleanor and beg her to renounce her scheme of vengeance. Grace felt very dubious as to the outcome of such an interview. Eleanor had in the past proved anything but tractable.
"I'll go to-night," decided Grace. "I'm not afraid of the dark. If mother objects, I'll take Bridget along for protection, although she's the greatest coward in the world."
Grace giggled a little as she thought of Bridget in the role of protector.
That night she hurried through her supper, and, barely tasting her dessert, said abruptly:
"Mother, may I go to Eleanor Savelli's this evening?"
"Away out to 'Heartsease,' Grace? Who is going with you?"
"No one," replied Grace truthfully. "Mother, please don't say no. I simply must see Eleanor at once."
"But I thought that you were not friendly with Eleanor," persisted Mrs. Harlowe.
"That is true," Grace answered, "but just now that is the very thing I want to be. It's this way, mother. Eleanor is going to try to make some trouble for Marian Barber in the class, and I must act at once if it is to be prevented."
"More school-girl difficulties," commented Mrs. Harlowe, with a smile. "But how does it happen that you always seem to be in the thick of the fight, Grace?"
"I don't know, mother," sighed Grace. "No one dislikes quarrels more than I do. May I go?"
"Yes," assented her mother, "but you must take Bridget with you. I'll see her at once and tell her to get ready."
It had been a raw, disagreeable day, and towards evening a cold rain had set in that was practically half snow. It was anything but an enviable night for a walk, and Bridget grumbled roundly under her breath as she wrapped herself in the voluminous folds of a water-proof cape and took down a huge, dark-green cotton umbrella from its accustomed nail behind the kitchen door.
"Miss Grace do be crazy to be goin' out this night. It's rheumatics I shall have to-morrow in all me bones," she growled.
She plodded along at Grace's side with such an injured expression that Grace felt like laughing outright at the picture of offended dignity that she presented.
Grace chatted gayly as they proceeded and Bridget answered her sallies with grunts and monosyllables. When they reached the turn of the road Grace said:
"Bridget, let's take the short cut. The walking is good and we'll save ten minutes' time by doing it."
"Phast that haunted house?" gasped Bridget. "Niver! May the saints presarve us from hants."
"Nonsense," laughed Grace. "There are no such things as ghosts, and you know it. If you're afraid you can go back and wait at your cousin's for me. She lives near here, doesn't she?"
"I will that," replied Bridget fervently, "but don't ye be too long gone, Miss Grace."
"I won't stay long," promised Grace, and hurried down the road, leaving Bridget to proceed with much grumbling to her cousin's house.
The house that Bridget had so flatly refused to pass was a two-story affair of brick that set well back from the highway. There were rumors afloat that a murder had once been committed there, and that the apparition of the victim, an old man, walked about at night moaning in true ghost fashion.
To be sure no one had as yet been found who had really seen the spectre old man, nevertheless the place kept its ghost reputation and was generally avoided.
Grace, who was nothing if not daring, never lost an opportunity to pass the old house, and jeered openly when any one talked seriously of the "ghost."
Now, she smiled to herself as she rapidly neared the house, at Bridget's evident fear of the supernatural.
"What a goose Bridget is," she murmured. "Just as though there were——" She stopped abruptly and stared in wonder at the old house. On the side away from the road was a small wing, and through one of the windows of this wing gleamed a tiny point of light.
"A light," she said aloud in surprise. "How strange. The ghost must be at home. Perhaps I was mistaken. No, there it is again. Ghost or no ghost, I'm going to see what it is."
Suiting the action to the words, Grace stole softly up the deserted walk and crouched under the window from whence the light had come. Clinging to the window ledge, she cautiously raised herself until her head was on a level with the glass. What she saw caused her to hold her breath with astonishment. Was she awake or did she dream? At one side of the room stood a small table, and on the table, in full view of her incredulous eyes, stood the strong box which had held the bazaar money that had been spirited away on Thanksgiving night. Bending over it, the light from his dark lantern shining full on the lock, was the man whom she had accused on the train.
