“Why is Mr. Wingfold not coming?” asked Lingard, anxiously, when it began to move.
“I fancy we shall be quite as comfortable without him, Poldie,” said Helen. “Did you expect him?”
“He promised to go with me. But he hasn’t called since the time was fixed.”—Here Helen looked out of the window.—“I can’t think why it is. I can do my duty without him though,” continued Leopold, “and perhaps it is just as well.—Do you know, George, since I made up my mind, I have seen her but once, and that was last night, and only in a dream.”
“A state of irresolution is one peculiarly open to unhealthy impressions,” said George, good-naturedly disposing of his long legs so that they should be out of the way.
Leopold turned from him to his sister.
“The strange thing, Helen,” he said, “was that I did not feel the least afraid of her, or even abashed before her. ‘I see you,’ I said. ‘Be at peace. I am coming; and you shall do to me what you will.’ And then—what do you think?—O my God! she smiled one of her own old smiles, only sad too, very sad, and vanished. I woke, and she seemed only to have just left the room, for there was a stir in the darkness.—Do you believe in ghosts, George?”
Leopold was not one of George’s initiated, I need hardly say.
“No,” answered Bascombe.
“I don’t wonder. I can’t blame you, for neither did I once. But just wait till you have made one, George!”
“God forbid!” exclaimed Bascombe, a second time forgetting himself.