Hollyhock whispered certain directions to her followers to try to get Daisy out of the way. This they promised, feeling quite sure that they could easily manage it.
Just as Daisy's last morsel of candle expired a voice sounded from afar: 'Daisy Watson, you are wanted in the house. Go in as fast as you can!'
Two or three girls boldly entered the Summer Parlour, clasped Daisy by both arms, and dragged her toward the house. Leucha was now alone. She was wild with rage at this final desertion.
Wrapping her cloak round her, she prepared to step out of the Parlour. The Scots, the English, and the French girls all hid behind trees. Hollyhock was near, but not too near. Leucha wrapped her cloak tightly round her. It was cold! She would be glad to get in out of the bitter air. She made up her mind to write that very night to her mother to remove her at any cost from this horrible school; but although she made up her mind, she knew quite well that the said mother would pay no attention to her. Was it not the aim of her life to have her only girl educated in the Palace of the Kings? And she was the last person to be influenced by mere girlish sadness and loneliness.
All these thoughts flashed through Leucha's mind as she stepped into the still, frosty night. She went a few yards; then she stood motionless, transfixed, turned for the time being into stone. What—what was this horror coming to meet her? A tall figure with skeleton hands and face, wearing a very mournful expression in the eyes—a figure that walked slowly, solemnly, such as she had certainly never seen before. She felt herself alone and a long way from home, for the Summer Parlour was quite a distance from the house. The figure held a lantern in its skeleton hands, which was so cleverly arranged that it lit up the worn features and revealed the dripping locks.
'Dry my hair, my wet hair!' cried the ghost in a deep sepulchral voice. 'Kind English maid, be so kind as to dry my hair!'
Leucha gave vent to an irrepressible shriek of horror. She had always hitherto laughed at the bare idea of the ghost; but now most truly she believed it. The ghost—the ghost in very truth—was there. He was facing her; he stood before her; he stood in her very path. How mournful, how horrible, was his voice! How more than fearful was his appearance! Her blood ran cold; her hair seemed to stand upright on her head. Indescribable was her horror.
'Go, ghostie!' suddenly cried a familiar voice, 'You have no right to torment an English maid. I 'll come out presently and dry your locks; but be off with you now, be off! Get away, or I'll never dry your dripping locks again!'
The ghost gave a hollow moan. There was the sound of many feet running in different directions, and Leucha would certainly have fainted had not Hollyhock put her firm young arm round her.
Oh, how she hated Hollyhock! And yet how she loved her at that moment! The warm feeling of human flesh and blood was delicious. Lady Leucha clung to Hollyhock and laid her head on her shoulder.