"It isn't like yours, though," replied Marjory doubtfully. "You have such a lot of pretty things."
"Oh, but I love this!" cried Blanche enthusiastically, sniffing the lavender-scented air and walking to the window; "and what a lovely view! I could sit and look out all day."
They decided to wait till the next night to watch for the ghost, for they thought it would be better to pay a visit to the old wing in the daylight first, and to explore it thoroughly, so that they should both be well acquainted with the staircases and the various rooms. They spent some time in discussing their plans, and Blanche's cheeks flushed and her eyes grew bright as they talked them over.
"Isn't it exciting?" she cried. "I do hope the light will come, so that we shall be able to see it. I hope I shan't feel frightened when the time comes, but I don't think I shall with you, Marj. You don't seem to be afraid of anything."
"Except Uncle George," amended Marjory.
"Yes; and I can't think why. Fancy being less afraid of a thing that might be a ghost than you are of a real flesh-and-blood uncle, who is really quite a dear old man!"
"It does seem silly," admitted Marjory, "but it's no good pretending it isn't true, because it is."
They went to the old wing next morning. It consisted of a large square hall, from which led a wide staircase to a gallery above, and two or three other rooms on the ground floor. From the gallery led several narrow corridors, with many turns and corners, steps up and steps down, which were traps for the unwary visitor. It was seldom that any one came to the old wing; its tenants were rats and spiders. Birds built their nests in the crumbling walls, and it smelt damp and musty, as if it had seen no sunlight for many a day.
The girls' footsteps and voices echoed through the empty rooms and passages. The old place had a fascination for Marjory, and yet she could never go through it without a shiver of something like awe. What had these mouldering walls seen? What tales could they tell if they could speak? Then her heart would swell with pride at the thought that she came of a long line of Hunters who had lived here and made the name famous. She, too, must do her part. Sometimes she would wish that she bore the old name; then she would rebuke herself for the thought, which was like treason to that unknown father of hers.
They went carefully through each room. There was nothing unusual in any of them; old boxes, pieces of broken furniture, rusty bits of iron strewed the place. One thing took Blanche's fancy. It was in a tiny room opening out of one of the large ones, and was so big that it almost filled it. It was an immense chest, studded with nails, and ornamented with handsome brass hasps.