But Caroline had been alone all the evening, within hearing of the laughter, the music, and feeling the very tread of the dancers in every nerve. She was young, ardent, and naturally felt a craving wish for the amusement she had resolutely denied herself; now, less than ever, could she feel a desire for sleep. Instead of seeking her room she wandered off to a wing of the castle, in which the picture gallery stretched its silent range of dead shadows, and tried to throw off the unaccountable excitement that possessed her, by walking up and down the long gallery.
The late moon was shining through the windows, and a crowd of dimly outlined figures, in armor or sweeping garments, looked down upon her from the walls.
Why this strange spirit of unrest had sent her to that gallery she could not have told, but it was there still, urging her on and on, she could not tell where, but walked swiftly up and down, up and down, as if striving to weary herself in a desire for the slumber that seemed to have fallen upon every human being in the castle.
As she was walking thus wildly, a footstep, not her own, disturbed her. She stopped to listen—made sure that it was some one advancing, and drew slowly back toward the wall, hoping to shelter herself among the low-hanging pictures.
The moonlight, from a neighboring window, lay full upon her as she retreated across the room, with her face turned down the gallery, and her breath hushed in fear. She saw, coming toward her, now in shadow, now in broader light, a lady, in garments of rustling silk, sweeping far back on the oaken floor, and gleaming duskily, amber-hued in the imperfect light of a small silver lamp which she carried in her hand—a beautiful lady, with rubies on her neck and in her hair. The lamplight, for a moment, concentrated on a face whose weariness was overborne by slumbering triumph, which poised her head like that of a newly crowned empress.
Caroline stood for the moment fascinated, then made a swift retreat, for she saw those great, black eyes turned full upon her, and fled in a panic.
A shriek—the crash of a falling lamp, and a mass of dusky drapery huddled together on the floor, brought the girl out of her covert. Something must have happened—the lady had hurt herself—perhaps could not arise from want of help. She went down the gallery, passing first one window then another, taking the moonlight from each, when the fallen lady uttered another cry, sprang to her feet and fled down the gallery, leaving her lamp overturned, with the wick still burning.
Caroline took up the lamp, and placing it on a bracket, left the gallery, vexed with herself for the fright she had occasioned this strange lady by wandering about so heedlessly in the dark. Still she could not sleep, but went to her own room and sat waiting there for the morning to dawn.
Perhaps an hour after Caroline left the picture gallery, a figure clothed in white from head to foot, came through an end door, walking firmly through the darkness, and touching the floor with the noiseless tread of her naked feet. She walked straight to the silver lamp and took it from the bracket. Now her face was revealed. It was Lady Hope.
She held the lamp before her, and moved on very slowly, looking ahead through the darkness with those wide open, staring eyes.