“Serious—serious,” said Mrs Clifford. She was still pacing the room, and had just reached the window when she spoke. The next moment she had uttered a cry. Mrs Tremaine saw that she was staring out of the window, her hands grasping the back of a chair.
She was by her side in a moment.
“Pray, what is the matter?” she said.
“You are weak—overcome by———-Let me ring for brandy.”
Mrs Clifford clutched her suddenly by the arm.
“Who is that—that—on the terrace?” she said in a fearful whisper.
“Who? Why, that is our cousin, Madge Craven,” replied Mrs Tremaine.
Madge was standing on the terrace bareheaded, tossing grain to the peacocks.
“She was with you when you were at the Manor House,” said Mrs Clifford. “She was there, and yet you did not see the ‘ghost’?”
“What on earth do you mean?” said Mrs Tremaine.