The starlight showed them plainly—a man and a woman—the woman wrapped in a shawl, leaning on the man's arm, and both walking very slowly, talking earnestly.
"No ghosts those," whispered Reginald Stanford. "Be quiet, Rose; we are in for an adventure."
"I ought to know that woman's figure," said Rose, in the same low tone. "Look! Don't you?"
"By—George! It can't be—Kate!"
"It is Kate; and who is the man, and what does it mean?"
Now Rose, maliciously asking the question, knew in her heart the man was Mr. Richards. She did not comprehend, of course, but she knew it must be all right; for Kate walked with him there under her father's sanction.
Mr. Stanford made no reply; he was staring like one who cannot believe his eyes.
Kate's face shown in profile was plainly visible as they drew nearer. The man's, shrouded by coat-collar and peaked cap, was all hidden, save a well-shaped nose.
"It is Kate," repeated Mr. Stanford, blankly. "And what does it mean?"
"Hush-sh!" whispered Rose; "they will hear you."