"Well then, I will tell; I can't be hung for it," she returned, with sudden resolution. "I came into your room, Miss, to look for something in the grounds that I thought might come there."
"The ghost?" I said, incautiously.
"So you know of it, Miss!" was her answer. "Yes; it is walking again: and I'm veering round to their way of thought. Mrs. Hill has locked up the turret, so that lookout is barred to us."
She pulled open the door with a jerk, and departed. The draught of air blew out my frail wax taper, and I went to the window: Lizzy had left the curtains and shutters open. I had no fear; it never occurred to me that there could be anything to see. But superstition is catching, and—what did my eyes rest upon?
In the old spot, hovering about the entrance to the pine-walk, was a man's shadowy figure; the one I had been told to believe was looked upon as the ghost of Sir Thomas Chandos.
These things can be laughed at in the open day in the broad sunshine. We are ready then to brave ghosts, to acknowledge them to be myths of the fancy, as indisputably as we know the bogies of children to be puppets dressed up to frighten them; but all alone in the darkness the case is different. I was by myself on that vast floor; Lizzy Dene had gone down, the wing-doors were shut, silence reigned. Once more terror got the better of me, the pacing figure was all too shadowy, and downstairs I flew, crossed the lighted hall, and burst into the oak-parlour to Mr. Chandos.
"Have you been waiting to re-write the letter?" he asked, "oblivious that your tea stood here, getting cold!"
I could make no answer just yet, but sank into my seat with a white face.
"You look as though you had seen a ghost," he jestingly said.
And then I burst into tears, just for a moment; the effect no doubt of nervous excitement. Mr. Chandos rose at once, his manner changing to one of tender kindness.