“There are some things in heaven and earth that refuse to be governed by a phrase,” sneered Mr. Durdan.
“Mules and the members of the Opposition are among them,” said Edmund, preparing to descend the cliffs by the zig-zag track.
He had scarcely disappeared in the mist when there was a shriek from Miss Stafford, and pointing down the track with a gesture, which for expressiveness, she had never surpassed in the most powerful of her recitations, she flung herself into Lady Innisfail’s arms.
“Great heavens!” cried Lady Innisfail. “It is the White Lady herself’!”
“We’re all lost, and the half sovereign’s nothing here or there,” said Brian, in a tone of complete resignation.
Out of the mist there seemed to float a white figure of a girl. She stood for some moments with the faint mist around her, and while the group on the cliff watched her—some of them found it necessary to cling together—another white figure floated through the mist to the side of the first, and then came another figure—that of a man—only he did not float.
“I wish you would not cling quite so close to me, my dear; I can’t see anything of what’s going on,” said Lady Innisfail to Miss Stafford, whose head was certainly an inconvenience to Lady Innisfail.
With a sudden, determined movement she shifted the head from her bosom to her shoulder, and the instant that this feat was accomplished she cried out, “Helen Craven!”
“Helen Craven?” said Miss Stafford, recovering the use of her head in a moment.
“Yes, it’s Helen Craven or her ghost that’s standing there,” said Lady Innisfail.