“No, it was Sabater. Mrs. Ruggles’ father was captain of a schooner which carried freight up and down the coast. They say her grandfather was a great old fighter and came near being hanged as a spy by both sides in the Revolution.”
It was all very interesting, and Billie was still asking questions of the others when the carriage arrived with the rest of the party.
“Why, where is Fannie?” they demanded, noticing her absence from the depot wagon.
“She complained of a headache and went home,” answered Belle. “We met one of your vehicles on the road, Percy, coming from town, and she got in and drove back.”
“Too bad,” answered Percy. “But she’s very sensible if she doesn’t feel well. It’s a long drive and fairly chilly when it gets late.”
Fannie was not much missed, however, from the jolly party which now gathered around the crackling wood fire. Presently the inn-keeper, fish-woman, queen, whatever she was, led the girls up the narrow flight of stairs at one end of the room to the balcony, on which opened a row of little bedrooms, like ship cabins. She was a very silent, busy woman, and she did not linger while they smoothed their rumpled locks and washed the dust from their faces.
Billie, who also was not one to linger at the dressing table, went out on the gallery and stood looking down into the picturesque room. The place fascinated her and she strolled along, peeping into the other small rooms, where, no doubt, Mrs. Ruggles’ father and grandfather had put up many a seafaring guest in years gone by.
At the other end of the gallery were more rooms, and she could not resist the temptation to glance into them while she waited for the other girls. Two of the doors were open, one into a large empty room and one into a scantily furnished bedroom. The next door was half closed. Should she look in? Billie hesitated. It was very impolite of her, but she knew that old Mrs. Ruggles lived alone, and there could be no one to intrude on. She pushed the door gently and looked in, then retreated quickly. The room was not empty, after all. In the immense, old-fashioned bed so high that it was necessary to stand on a foot stool at one side in order to plunge into it, lay a woman. Billie thought she was asleep at first. Her eyes were closed and her long black hair was spread back of her on the pillow like a dusky mantel. The young girl stood transfixed on the threshold. Then the woman opened her eyes and looked straight into Billie’s.
“I beg your pardon,” said Billie politely, and backed away, her heart beating so fast that she almost choked for breath.
The others were just going downstairs, chatting and laughing together, even Belle Rogers, who seemed, somehow, softened and quite different. There was no chance to tell about the strange woman just then, and Billie kept her knowledge to herself. But the large dark eyes haunted her memory and she could not forget the face, of which she had caught only a fleeting glance.