A Visitor
How came the fan there--and on the accursed square of ground where no grass would grow? Rupert was not superstitious, yet his heart gave a bound, and for the moment he felt sick. This fan was the cause of much trouble in the past, it had cost one woman her life, and it might yet claim another victim. With the fan in his hand, and the yellow light of the guttering candle in the lantern gleaming on its beauty, he stood stupidly staring, unheeding the feeble piping of Petley's voice, as he peered in at the ruined archway.
"What's the matter, Master Rupert?" questioned the old butler with a shiver, "have you seen It?"
"No," said Rupert at length, and he hardly knew his own voice so heavy and thick it was, "there's nothing to be seen."
A cry came from the old man. "Don't stand on that accursed ground. Master Rupert," he said, almost whimpering, "and to-night, of all times."
"Why to-night," said Rupert, retreating back to the arch.
"Any night," shivered Petley putting his hand on his young master's arm and drawing him out of the cloisters, "it's not a good place for an Ainsleigh to be in at night. The Abbot--"
"John, I don't believe in the Abbot."
"But Anne saw him--or It. She's not the one to tell a lie."
"Mrs. Petley is deceived in some way." Rupert considered a moment, and thrust the fan into his pocket. In the darkness, and because he turned aside the lantern light, old Petley had not seen that anything had been picked up. "I'm going to search round," said Rupert.