CHAPTER VIII.
"Era già l'ora che volge 'l disio
A' naviganti, e'ntenerisce il cuore,
Lo di ch'han detto a' dolci amici addio,
E che lo nuovo peregrin d' amore
Punge, se ode squilla di lontano,
Che paja 'l giorno pianger che si muore."
Dante.
Mercy Page was an old acquaintance of Helen's, and was wont to bring her all the gossip of the village, intermingled with her own little adventures. And so she told Miss Helen the story of her pilgrimage to Madron Well, and the fierce denunciations of Dame Gudhan. And the young lady, after smilingly chiding her for her simple proceeding, taught her to smile also at the ill words of the pythoness. But now Mercy thought she had the laugh on her side, for she had heard the twilight tales about the castle, and availed herself of the familiarity which Helen allowed her, to inquire concerning them at head-quarters.
"D' ye know, Miss Helen," she asked, "what they're saying about the green yonder? How there's a pale lady all in white, that walks through the castle by night, and fleers you and Mr. Randolph sadly?"
"All I can say, Mercy," Helen answered, with a smile, "is that I have met no lady answering that description, either by night or by day."
"They tell it so in whispers," the fair rustic continued; "I cannot well say what is the story. It's something about somebody that some one murdered a very long while ago."
"Ah, Mercy, people are always fond of a ghost story," Helen said. "And so I hear Michael was in the game the other day. You had a merry dance at last, I expect."