It is a head, closely covered with some dark clothing—the faintest outlines of a face—a pair of eyes that gleam like living coals. As I gaze horror-stricken, it disappears, so suddenly, so utterly, as to almost make me think it was a mere trick of the imagination. Almost, but not quite the eyes still burn and gleam before me, but to my memory comes Bebe's marvellous tale.
"'Duke, 'Duke," I cry rising, "what is it? What have I seen? Oh! I am horribly frightened!" I cling to him, and point eagerly towards the window.
"Frightened at what?" asks 'Duke, startled by my manner, and gazing ignorantly in the direction I have indicated.
"A face," I say nervously. "It was there only a moment ago. I saw it quite distinctly, and eyes so piercing. Marmaduke," shrinking closer to him, "do you remember Bebe's story?"
"My darling girl, how can you be so absurd," exclaims 'Duke, kindly, "letting that stupid tale upset you so? You only imagined a face, my dearest. You have been too much alone all day. There can be nothing."
"There was," I declare, positively. "I could not be so deceived."
"Nonsense, Phyllis! Come with me to the window and look out. If there really was any one, she must be in view still."
He leads me to the window rather against my will, and makes me look out. I do so to please him, standing safely ensconced behind his arm.
"The lawn is bare," he says convincingly; "there is no cover until one reaches the shrubberies beyond; and no one could have reached them since, I think. Now come with me to the other window."
I follow him submissively with the same result; and finally we finish our researches in the bow-window, at the farthest end of the room.