"What business had you in this part of the house at all?" she questioned, after a pause.
"Mrs. Stone sent us after her spectacles," explained Ann. "She left them in your sitting-room, ma'am, when she was up there seeing to the curtains this afternoon. She sent us, Miss Ella; she'd not go up herself at dark for the world."
"Did she send both of you?" was the almost sarcastic question.
"Ma'am, she knows neither one of us would dare to go alone."
"You are a pair of silly, superstitious girls," rebuked Miss Winter. "What is there in the north wing to frighten you, more than in any other part of the house? I am surprised at you; at you, Ann, especially, knowing as I do how sensibly your mother brought you up."
"I can't help the feeling, miss, though I do strive against it," said Ann, with a half sob. "I know it's wrong, but I can't help myself turning cold when I have to come into this part of the house after dark."
"We hear noises in the north wing as we don't hear elsewhere," said Martha, shivering. "Miss Ella, it is true--if anything ever was true in this world. It was the door of her room we heard just now--loud enough too. Just as if the wind had blown it to, or as if somebody had shut it in a temper."
"There is hardly enough wind this evening to stir a leaf," reproved their young mistress. "And you know that every door in the north wing is locked outside, except that of my sitting-room."
"No, Miss Ella, there's not enough wind, and the doors is locked, as you say; but we heard one of 'em bang, for all that, and it sounded like her door," answered Martha, with respectful persistency.
Ella looked at the young women. Could she cure them of this foolish fear, she asked herself--or, at least, soften it?