"Well, it was only an old military cloak of my father's, which Laurence had hung over a broom in a corner of the school-room to try my courage."
"I wonder what questions you would ask now?"
"Oh, there are so many things one would like to know," the sweet face shadowing, and the eyes taking an anxious expression.
"Is the monk supposed to have a predilection for any particular chamber?" asked Meredith. "Ghosts are uncertain visitors, I know; but it would be something to pass a night where one might be expected."
"You might find it no jest if he came," said Laurence.
"Oh, I should take him seriously enough. In fact, I have something of Miss Verschoyle's feeling. There are so many questions one would like to ask."
She was glancing curiously towards her brother. "Why did he take that tone—he that, until now, had been as ready as the rest to jest at the ghost?" But she had no time to speculate as to what was in his mind. Now that he had returned, she might consider herself off duty in the matter of doing her share towards entertaining; and she had to help Sally to prepare a room for the guest, her invalid mother to attend to, and to contrive a fitting breakfast for the morrow.
The two young men passed out on to the grass terrace before the window, lighted their cigars, and strolled to and fro in the moonlight. There was very little interchange of thought. Allan Meredith was speculating as to how best he could set about helping Margaret Verschoyle's brother; and beginning to fear it would be very difficult to do so, unless he were more inclined than he now appeared to put his shoulder to the wheel. He had little sympathy for a nature such as Verschoyle's; and, unconsciously perhaps to himself, the few words he uttered conveyed what was in his mind to the other, who was quick to resent it.
"TO AND FRO IN THE MOONLIGHT."