“Will you first promise me,” he replied, really in earnest, “that you won’t mention it to mother? Though she is so strong-minded, I honestly don’t think she’d like it, not having been well lately.”
Madeleine nodded in acquiescence.
“I promise,” she replied; “but do be quick.”
“Well,” he said, “to tell you the truth, up to now I know very little, but I mean to find out more, and I hope you will help me. It has something to do with an old story of the place being left away from the other branch of the family, to whom it had been promised by an ancestress. She, as far as I can make out, is credited with conscientious remorse for her misdeeds or non-deeds, and walks about a certain part of the grounds in the stupid way that ghosts always do. There, now, that is really all I know; but I am not inventing.” And Madeleine felt satisfied that he was speaking in good faith, as his story tallied with the allusions made by Mr Morion, that last time she had seen him in London, to some ancient family complications. “I know you’ve good nerves,” Horace went on, “and it may add a spice of excitement to our time here!”
“But how are we to find out more?” asked Madeleine. “It would never do to be cross-questioning the people about; that might annoy Ryder Morion seriously. Who told you what you do know?”
“Two or three people,” he replied. “The old vicar knows the whole story, I strongly suspect, but I couldn’t get much out of him. The best people to apply to, but we must do it carefully, are the Miss Morions—the other Morions, you know, at the cottage over there,” inclining his head as he spoke in the direction alluded to.
Madeleine’s interest increased.
“Would they not mind talking about it?” she asked. “Family ghosts are ticklish subjects sometimes, and in this case there really is some sore feeling still existent, it appears.”
Horace looked up in surprise.
“How do you know that?” he inquired.