"Ah, but haven't yees heard the quare noises in the tower, Miss Jessie? An' shure there's a ghost in this house—Holy Mother defind us!" and Katie piously crossed herself in real terror.
"A ghost, Katie! I'm ashamed of you. It is only the wind. It blows here fearfully. You might turn a regiment loose in the house, and they could scarcely make more noise than these big, rattling windows."
"Arrah, me jewel," protested Katie; "there's a turrible walkin' about in the tower ivery night these two noights. An' didn't yees hear about the awful murther in the town over beyant us an' the murtherer iscapin'? Sich a quare murther, too, with the finger rings all left on, and the money purse in the pocket. Ah, Miss Jessie, a murtherin' ghost won't niver be laid."
"You silly Kate!" said Jessie merrily. "Don't be afraid, I'll take care of the ghosts. We are all right."
After a cup of tea and a bit of toast, Jessie repaired to her chamber on the second floor and picked up some trifle she was embroidering, to beguile the time of waiting. Mabel and George would get in about nine, when they were to relate the day's doings around a good warm supper.
Katie was to follow and sit with her mistress, after she had done some righting up down stairs. Mike was bent upon routing an army of rats in the barn. Mrs. Lawrence had retired to her room with a nervous headache.
The high winds from the sea had lulled, and for once the house was utterly quiet—so quiet that the stillness became oppressive. Meanwhile the young girl sat in her bower of luxury, softly humming a favorite air, and very happy in thoughts of her approaching marriage. While deep in her smiling reverie, a stealthy footstep distinctly sounded outside her door.
Raising her head, she had not time to feel a sensation of real fear, when cautiously her doorknob was turned and a head intruded itself which struck her as dumb as though Medusa had appeared, and drove the life-blood in a frozen current to her head.