“But why should you haunt this place at all?” Mr. de Roscovi asked. “What reason is there for your being earth-bound?”
“My sins,” the control replied. “I was a very wicked girl.”
“I don’t care whether you were wicked or not,” Brown put in mournfully. “I want to see you. If your face is in keeping with your limbs and figure, it must indeed be lovely. Is there no way of seeing you—just for a second?”
“None,” the control answered. Then, with much more emphasis, “None.”
But hardly had the alleged Anne Heathcote spoken, when far away in the distance came the sound of footsteps. Tap, tap, tap!
“Why! By Jove!” Brown shouted, “there she is! I recognise her step. I should know it in a million.”
For a minute everyone was silent, the tapping growing more and more audible. Then Madame Valenspin, in quite her own voice, exclaimed excitedly: “Let us be going. The spirits tell me we mustn’t remain here any longer. Let’s go back by the fields.”
She fumbled with the latchet of the gate, against which she had been leaning, and hurriedly tried to raise it.
Mrs. de Roscovi said nothing, but gripped her husband by the arm. The steps approached rapidly, and presently the same dainty form, Brown had previously seen when with Reynolds, once more figured on the horizon.
“It is—it is she!” Brown whispered. “Look—the waist, the arms, the hands, the shoes. Silver buckles! How they flash!”