Richard, quitting his place by the window, left the room. Isaac, who had been softly humming a tune to himself, brought it to a close. A broad smile sat on his face: it appeared evident to my lady that the superstition was regarded by him as fun rather than otherwise. She fell into thought.
"You do not believe in the ghost, Mr. Isaac?"
"I don't say that. I do not fear it."
"Did you ever see it?"
"Never so much as its shadow; but it is currently believed, you know, that some people are born without the gift of seeing ghosts."
He laughed a merry laugh. My lady resumed in a low tone.
"Is it not thought that your mother feared it? That it--it helped to kill her?"
As if by magic, changed the mood of Isaac Thornycroft. He rose from the stool, and stood for a moment at the window in the faint rays of the light; his face was little less dark than his brother's, his voice as stern.
"By your leave, madam, we will not bring my mother's name up in connexion with this subject."
"I beg your pardon; but--there is one thing I should like to ask you. Do not look upon me as a stranger, but as one of yourselves from henceforth; come here, I hope, to make life pleasanter to all of us," she continued, in her sweetest tone. "Those rooms at the end of the house, with the high walls on either side--is there any superstition connected with them?"