Here her voice sank to a whisper, "The picture of the wolf-lady came out of its frame and walked about the house—Ellen saw it."
"Nonsense!" said Mrs. Deborah, but she looked uneasy.
I knew very well that she herself believed in the howling of the wolf as portending some great misfortune, and that she was not entirely incredulous on the subject of the walking picture.
"Where did Ellen see the wolf-lady?" I asked.
"In the long gallery, miss. She had been down to the kitchen to get a warm salt-bag to put to Hannah's cheek, for the poor thing is half dead with an income in her face, and she made bold to go through the gallery to reach the little stairs."
"She heard a voice as if pleading as for very life in the little saloon, and another deep voice that seemed to answer in scorn, Ellen said, and she had just time to slip behind the great Indian screen, when the lady came out in a long white gown, and with both hands pressed to the sides of her head. She passed along so close that Ellen said she could almost have touched her, and went into the great hall, and then Ellen ran up stairs to her own room."
I glanced at Mrs. Deborah. I did not believe in the ghostly character of Ellen's vision, neither, I saw, did she.
"When did you last see Miss Leighton, Mary?" I asked.
"Yesterday morning, Miss."
"And Lord Bulmer is still at the Hall? He did not go with Sir Julius!"