“Ah! don’t, ah! don’t—don’t go to that horrid place, dear Britomarte! You don’t know what it is! They say—that the place is haunted.”
“Of course, they say every isolated old country house is haunted.”
“But—forgive me once again, dear Britomarte—are you expected or desired there?”
“I do not know. My old aunt has never written to me. The half-yearly payments for the schooling, for which I am indebted to her, always have been forwarded by her agent in Washington. On each occasion I have written to her a letter of thanks, but I have never received an answer.”
Just then a boy rushed up with a letter for Britomarte.
She opened it wonderingly, and turned to the signature.
Her face was suddenly blanched to the hue of death, and she reeled, as though about to fall.
“Britomarte, dear Britomarte, what is it? Any bad news?” anxiously exclaimed Erminie.
But Miss Conyers raised her hand with a silencing gesture, and arose to go down below. She trembled so much as she moved, that Erminie started forward to attend her. But with a repelling motion the pallid girl stopped her friend, and hurried alone on her way.
All the morning the Thetis steamed down the river. At the dinner hour Erminie was very glad of the excuse to go down into the stateroom she occupied in common with Britomarte, to take off her bonnet and mantle, and brush her hair, to go to the public table.