This breathless narrative was received with much amusement by the ladies; but the children were quite awe-stricken at being in the haunts of a ghost with a regular stopping-place.
“I didn’t suppose there were any real ghosts,” said Philip doubtfully.
“Neither did I,” said Aunt Grace, laughing, “and I cannot say that I quite believe in them yet.”
The servant, whose faith in his ghost was implicit, here pointed out to them in the most respectful manner a fracture in the door which was made when it was “broke down,” evidently thinking that was proof enough to convince the most sceptical. So, out of civility, his audience forbore to appear to question the evidence of their own eyes, and followed their cicerone through the other rooms, each of which, in the old part of the castle, had its story of family or historical interest. In the chamber of an ancestress who had been maid of honor to the queen of one of the Georges stood a harp, swathed in its ghostly white-linen cover.
“What is it?” whispered Philip, whose eye was caught by the uncovered pedals.
“A harp, to be sure,” answered Rose, with a superior air.
“A harp!” repeated Philip, with his eyes shining. “Oh, if I could only see it with the cover off!”
“’Twouldn’t do you any good if you did,” said Rose unsympathizingly; “it would be all unstrung and out of tune.”
“But I would be so glad just to look at it,” said Philip, still lingering by the muffled instrument.
“Do you really so much want to see a harp?” said Lillie, coming over from an inlaid cabinet where the beautiful maid of honor kept her trinkets.