“Yes,” was the low reply.
“Did you hear the ‘Princess’ walk down the hall?” The Princess was the big Maltese house cat, and a privileged character.
“A pretty big cat,” was whispered back.
“That was Mother Stone, and she was just as anxious to avoid being heard by Miss Preston as she was anxious to hear what might be going on in our rooms. If Miss Preston caught her listening at anybody’s door, she would be angrier than if we sat up all night.”
“What does she think we’re up to, anyway?” whispered Toinette.
“No telling, but she knows we had a frolic last night and is on the lookout for another to-night, I guess.”
“Maybe she won’t look in vain,” laughed Toinette, softly.
Twelve o’clock had just been struck by the tall clock in the lower hall, when a white figure walked slowly down the corridor. Her hair fell in long, waving ringlets far below her waist, her pretty white hands were outstretched in front of her, and the great eyes, wide open, stared straight before her with a strange, unseeing stare. As she walked along she whispered softly to herself, but the words were hardly audible. On she went, through the long corridor, down the little side hall, which led to the pantry below, still muttering in that uncanny manner.
It had long been a standing joke in the school that Mrs. Stone slept like a cat, with one eye open and one ear alert for every sound, for she was continually hearing burglars, or marauders of some sort or other. So it is not surprising that before that ghost had gone very far another white figure popped its head out into the hall and uttered a smothered exclamation at sight of number one.
“Dear me! dear me!” she murmured, “my suspicions were not amiss. Poor, dear Marion, is so very self-confident. I was sure the last night’s folly would lead to something else. Such is invariably the case,” and she followed rapidly after the figure which was just vanishing around the turn in the lower hall.