“And I do want to be very quiet,” added Gloria.
“In its dilapidation and dampness.”
“Good fires can rectify the one immediately, and good workmen the other in due time.”
“Finally, in the evil reputation of the place,” said the young man, solemnly.
“Now, David Lindsay, if you mean the rumors about the house being haunted, that is just what attracts me to it!” said Gloria, archly.
“It is not that idle rumor to which I refer. A place that has been little better than a stronghold of godless revellers, gamblers, drunkards, duellists, murderers, if all be true that is told of them, is no proper home for any lady, not to say you. It is only fit to be turned into a smelting-furnace for the treasures of iron ore said to be hidden in the depths of these mountains,” gravely concluded the young man.
“Oh, then you don’t believe that the house is haunted,” said Gloria, good-humoredly.
“It is haunted by the association of atrocious crimes and bitter sufferings, if by no other ghosts. Lady dear, I wish you would not think of living here,” he pleaded.
“The poor old place is in no way to blame for the evil lives of the monsters who once lived here and have now gone to where they belong—to Pandemonium. I shall stay here, David Lindsay, until I have become familiar with every part of the house, and acquainted with every part of the mountain. If I grow weary of the place I shall take Phil Cummings for a companion and one of her old uncles for an escort, and return to Washington.”
As Gloria said this, the housekeeper, who sat between the young pair, looked from one to the other, and with the bluntness that belonged to her nature and circumstances, exclaimed: