He did not tell me this. Indeed, it was not till fully a week later that I heard anything, and then in a letter—a very long letter from my brother, which, I think, will relate the sequel of our strange ghost story better than any narration at second-hand, of my own.
Mr. Miles only stayed two nights with us. The very day after he came he announced that, to his great regret, he was obliged—most unexpectedly—to return to Raxtrew on important business.
"And," he continued, "I am afraid you will all feel much more vexed with me when I tell you I am going to carry off Phil with me."
Father looked very blank indeed.
"Phil!" he exclaimed, "and how about our shooting?"
"You can easily replace us," said my brother, "I have thought of that," and he added something in a lower tone to father. He—Phil—was leaving the room at the time. I thought it had reference to the real reason of his accompanying Mr. Miles, but I was mistaken. Father, however, said nothing more in opposition to the plan, and the next morning the two went off.
We happened to be standing at the hall door—several of us—for we were a large party now—when Phil and his friend drove away. As we turned to re-enter the house, I felt some one touch me. It was Sophy. She was going out for a constitutional with Miss Larpent, but had stopped a moment to speak to me.
"Leila," she said in a whisper, "why have they—did you know that the tapestry had been taken down?"
She glanced at me with a peculiar expression. I had not observed it. Now, looking up, I saw that the two locked doors were visible in the dark polish of their old mahogany as of yore—no longer shrouded by the ancient portières. I started in surprise.
"No," I whispered in return, "I did not know. Never mind, Sophy. I suspect there is a reason for it which we shall know in good time."