SEEING A GHOST.
Three days after the departure of Grace's brother, Captain Danton
returned to the Hall. Strange to say, the young Doctor had been missed
in these three days by the four Misses Danton. Even the stately Kate,
who would have gone to the block sooner than have owned it, missed his
genial presence, his pleasant laugh, and ever interesting conversation;
Rose missed her flirtee, and gaped wearily the slow hours away that had
flown coquetting with him; Eeny missed the pocketfuls of chocolate,
bon-bons, and the story books new from Montreal; and Grace missed him
most of all. But Eeny was the only one honest enough to own it, and she
declared the house was as lonely as a dungeon since Doctor Frank had
gone away.
"One would think you had fallen in love with him, Eeny," said Rose.
"No," retorted Eeny; "I leave that for you. But he was nice; I liked
him, and I wish he would come back. Don't you, Kate?"
"I don't care, particularly," said Kate. "I wish papa would come."
"And bring that unknown friend of yours. I say, Kate," said Rose
mischievously, "they say you're engaged--perhaps it's your fiancé."
Up over Kate's pearly face the hot blood flew, and she turned hastily to
the nearest window.
"Too late, ma soeur," said Rose, her eyes dancing. "You blush
beautifully. Won't I have a look at him when he comes, the conquering
hero, who can win our queenly Kate's heart."
"Rose, hush!" cried Kate, yet not displeased, and with that roseate
light in her face still.
Rose came over, and put her arm around her waist coaxingly.
"Tell me about him, Kate. Is he handsome?"
"Who? Reginald? Of course he is handsome."
"I want to see him dreadfully! Have you his picture? Won't you show it
me?"
There was a slender gold chain round Kate's neck, which she wore night
and day. A locket was attached, and her hand pressed it now, but she did
not take it out.
"Some other time, my pet," she said, kissing Rose. "Come, let us go for
a ride."
Rose was an accomplished horsewoman, and never looked so well as in a
side-saddle. She owned a spirited black mare, which she called Regina,
and she had ridden out every day with Doctor Frank while that gentleman
was in St. Croix. Kate rode well, too. A fleet-footed little pony, named
Arab, had been trained for her use, and the sisters galloped over the
country together daily.
Eeny and Grace, both mortally afraid of horse-flesh, never rode.
Between music, books, and riding, the three days' interval passed
pleasantly enough.
Rose was an inveterate novel reader, and the hours Kate spent shut up
with that unfathomable mystery, Mr. Richards, her younger sister passed
absorbed in the last new novel.
They had visitors too--the Ponsonbys, the Landrys, the Le Favres, and
everybody of note in the neighbourhood called. Father Francis, M. le
Curé, the Reverend Augustus Clare, the Episcopal incumbent of St. Croix,
an aristocratic young Englishman, came to see them in the evening to
hear Miss Danton sing, and to play backgammon.
The Reverend Augustus, who was slim, and fair, and had face and hands
like a pretty girl, was very much impressed with the majestic daughter
of Captain Danton, who sang so magnificently, and looked at him with
eyes like blue stars.
The day that brought her father home had been long and dull. There had
been no callers, and they had not gone out. A cold north wind had
shrieked around the house all day, rattling the windows, and tearing
frantically through the gaunt arms of the stripped trees. The sky was
like lead, the river black and turbid. As the afternoon wore on, great
flakes of snow came fluttering through the opaque air, slowly at first,
then faster, till all was blind, fluttering whiteness, and the black
earth was hidden.
Kate stood by the dining-room window watching the fast-falling snow. It
had been a long day to her--a long, weary, aimless day. She had tried to
read, to play, to sing, to work; and failed in all. She had visited Mr.
Richards; she had wandered, in a lost sort of way, from room to room;
she had lain listlessly on sofas, and tried to sleep, all in vain. The
demon of ennui had taken possession of her; and now, at the end of every
resource, she stood looking drearily out at the wintry scene. She was
dressed for the evening, and looked like a picture, buttoned up in that
black velvet jacket, its rich darkness such a foil to her fair face and
shining golden hair. Grace was her only companion--Grace sitting
serenely braiding an apron for herself, Rose was fathoms deep in "Les
Miserables," and Eeny was drumming on the piano in the drawing-room.
There had been a long silence, but presently Grace looked up from her
work, and spoke.
"This wintry scene is new to you, Miss Danton. You don't have such wild
snow storms in England?"
Kate glanced round, a little surprised.
It was very rarely indeed her father's housekeeper voluntarily addressed
her.
"No," she said, "not like this; but I like it. We ought to have
sleighing to-morrow, if it continues."
"Probably. We do not often have sleighing, though, in November."
There was another pause.
Kate yawned behind her white hand.
"I wish Father Francis would come up," she said wearily. "He is the only
person in St. Croix worth talking to."
The dark, short November afternoon was deepening with snowy night, when
through the ghostly twilight the buggy from the station whirled up to
the door, and two gentlemen alighted. Great-coats, with upturned
collars, and hats pulled down, disguised both, but Kate recognized her
father, the taller and stouter, with a cry of delight.
"Papa!" she exclaimed; and ran out of the room to meet him. He was just
entering, his jovial laugh ringing through the house as he shook the
snow off, and caught her in his wet arms.
"Glad to be home again, Kate! You don't mind a cold kiss, do you? Let me
present an old friend whom you don't expect, I'll wager."
The gentleman behind him came forward. A gentleman neither very young,
nor very handsome, nor very tall; at once plain-looking and
proud-looking. The pale twilight was bright enough for Kate to recognize
him as he took off his hat.
"Sir Ronald Keith!" she cried, intense surprise in every line of her
face; "why, who would have thought of seeing you in Canada?"
She held out her hand frankly, but there was a marked air of restraint
in Sir Ronald's manner as he touched it and dropped it again.
"I thought it would be an astonisher," said her father; "how are Grace
and Eeny?"
"Very well."
"And Rose? Has Rose got home?"
"Yes, papa."
At this juncture Ogden appeared, and his master turned to him.
"Ogden, see that Sir Ronald's luggage is taken to his room, and then
hold yourself in readiness to attend him. This way, Sir Ronald, there is
just time to dress for dinner, and no more."
He led his visitor to the bedroom regions, and Kate returned to the
drawing-room. Rose was there dressed beautifully, and with flowers in
her hair, and all curiosity to hear who their visitor was. There was a
heightened colour in Kate's face and an altered expression in her eyes
that puzzled Grace.
"He is Sir Ronald Keith," she said, in reply to Rose. "I have known him
for years."
"Sir Ronald; knight or baronet?"
"Baronet, of course," Kate said, coldly; "and Scotch. Don't get into a
gale, Rose; you won't care about him; he is neither young nor handsome."
"Is he unmarried?"
"Yes."
"And rich?"
"His income is eight thousand a year."
"_Mon Dieu!_ A baronet and eight thousand a year! Kate, I am going to
make a dead set at him. Lady Keith--Lady Rose Keith; that sounds
remarkably well, doesn't it? I always thought I should like to be 'my
lady.' Grace, how do I look?"
Kate sat down to the piano, and drowned Rose's words in a storm of
music. Rose looked at her with pursed-up lips.
"Kate is in one of her high and mighty moods," she thought. "I don't
pretend to understand her. If she is engaged in England, what difference
can it make to her whether I flirt with this Scotch baronet or not? What
do I care for her airs? I'll flirt if I please."
She sat still, twisting her glossy ringlets round her fingers, while
Kate played on with that unsmiling face. Half an hour, and the
dinner-bell rang. Ten minutes after, Captain Danton and his guest stood
before them.
For a moment Rose did not see him; her father's large proportions, as he
took her in his arms and kissed her, overshadowed every one else.
"How my little Rose has grown!" the Captain said looking at her fondly;
"as plump as a partridge and as Rosy as her name. Sir Ronald--my
daughter Rose."
Rose bowed with finished grace, thinking, with a profound sense of
disappointment:
"What an ugly little man!"
Then it was Eeny's turn, and presently they were all seated at the
table--the baronet at Kate's right hand, talking to her of Old England,
and of by-gone days, and of people the rest knew nothing about. Captain
Danton gallantly devoted himself to the other three, and told them he
had brought them all presents from Montreal.
"Oh, papa, have you though!" cried Rose. "I dearly love presents; what
have you brought me?"
"Wait until after dinner, little curiosity," said her father. "Grace,
whom do you think I met in Montreal?"
"I don't know, sir."
"Why, that brother of yours. I was loitering along the Champ de Mars,
when who should step up but Doctor Frank. Wasn't I astonished! I asked
what brought him there, and he told me he found St. Croix so slow he
couldn't stand it any longer. Complimentary to you, young ladies."
Kate gave Rose a mischievous look, and Rose bit her lip and tossed back
her auburn curls.
"I dare say St. Croix and its inhabitants can survive the loss," she
said. "Papa, the next time you go to Montreal I want you to take me.
It's a long time since I have been there."
"I thought you were going back to Ottawa," said Grace. "You seem to have
forgotten all about it."
Rose gave her an alarmed look; and finding a gap in the tête-à-tête
between her sister and Sir Ronald, struck smilingly in. He was small and
he was homely, but he was a baronet and worth eight thousand a year, and
Rose brought all the battery of her charms to bear. In vain. She might
as well have tried to fascinate one of the gnarled old tamaracks
out-of-doors. Sir Ronald was utterly insensible to her brightest smiles
and glances, to her rosiest blushes and most honeyed words. He listened
politely, he answered courteously; but he was no more fascinated by
Captain Danton's second daughter than he was by Captain Danton's
housekeeper.
Rose was disgusted, and retreated to a corner with a book, and sulked.
Grace, Kate, and Eeny, who all saw through the little game, were
exceedingly amused.
"I told you it was of no use, Rose," said Kate, in a whisper, pausing at
the corner. "Do you always read with the book upside down? Sir Ronald is
made of flint, where pretty girls are concerned. You won't be 'my lady'
this time."
"Sir Ronald is a stupid stick!" retorted Rose. "I wouldn't marry him if
he were a duke instead of a baronet. One couldn't expect anything better
from a Scotchman, though."
It was the first experience Kate had had of Rose's temper. She drew back
now, troubled.
"I hope we will not be troubled with him long!" continued Rose,
spitefully. "The place was stupid enough before, but it will be worse
with that sulky Scotchman prowling about. I tried to be civil to him
this evening. I shall never try again."
With which Miss Rose closed her lips, and relapsed into her book,
supremely indifferent to her sister's heightened colour and flashing
eyes. She turned away in silence, and fifteen minutes after, Rose got up
and left the room, without saving good-night to any one.
Rose kept her word. From that evening she was never civil to the Scotch
baronet, and took every occasion to snub him. But her incivility was as
completely thrown away as her charms had been. It is doubtful whether
Sir Ronald ever knew he was snubbed; and Kate, seeing it, smiled to
herself, and was friends with offended Rose once more. She and the
baronet were on the best of terms; he was always willing to talk to her,
always ready to be her escort when she walked or rode, always on hand to
turn her music and listen entranced to her singing. If it was not a
flirtation, it was something very like it, and Rose was nowhere. She
looked on with indignant eyes, and revenged herself to the best of her
power by flirting in her turn with the Reverend Augustus Clare.
"He is nothing but a ninny!" she said to Grace; "and has eyes for no one
but Kate. Oh, how I wish my darling Jules were here, or even your
brother, Grace--he was better than no one!"
"My brother is very much obliged to you."
"You talk to me of my flirting propensities," continued the exasperated
Rose. "I should like to know what you call Kate's conduct with that
little Scotchman."
"Friendship, my dear," Grace answered, repressing a smile.
"Remember, they have known each other for years."
"Friendship! Yes; it would be heartless coquetry if it were I. I hope
Lieutenant Reginald Stanford, of Stanford Royals, will like it when he
comes. Sir Ronald Keith is over head and ears in love with her, and she
knows it, and is drawing him on. A more cold-blooded flirtation no one
ever saw!"
"Nonsense, Rose! It is only a friendly intimacy."
But Rose, unable to stand this, bounced out of the room in a passion,
and sought consolation in her pet novels.
Kate and Sir Ronald were certainly very much together; but,
notwithstanding their intimacy, she found time to devote two or three
hours every day to Mr. Richards. Rose's mystery was her mystery still.
She could get no further towards its solution. Mr. Richards might have
been a thousand miles away, for all any of the household saw of him; and
Grace, in the solitude of her own chamber, wondered over it a good deal
of late.
She sat at her window one December night, puzzling herself about it.
Kate had not come down to dinner that day--she had dined with the
invalid in his rooms. When she had entered the drawing-room about nine
o'clock, she looked pale and anxious, and was absent and _distraite_ all
the evening. Now that the house was still and all were in their rooms,
Grace was wondering. Was Mr. Richards worse? Why, then, did they not
call in a Doctor? Who could he be, this sick stranger, in whom father
and daughter were so interested? Grace could not sleep for thinking of
it. The night was mild and bright, and she arose, wrapped a large shawl
around her, and took her seat by the window. How still it was, how
solemn, how peaceful! The full moon sailed through the deep blue sky,
silver-white, crystal-clear. Numberless stars shone sharp and keen. The
snowy ground glittered dazzlingly bright and cold; the trees stood like
grim, motionless sentinels, guarding Danton Hall. The village lay hushed
in midnight repose; the tall cross of the Catholic and the lofty spire
of the Episcopal church flashed in the moon's rays. Rapid river and
sluggish canal glittered in the silvery light. The night was noiseless,
hushed, beautiful.
No; not noiseless. A step crunched over the frozen snow; from under the
still shadow of the trees a moving shadow came. A man, wrapped in a long
cloak, and with a fur cap down over his eyes, came round the angle of
the building and began pacing up and down the terrace. Grace's heart
stood still for an instant. Who was this midnight walker? Not Sir Ronald
Keith watching his lady's lattice--it was too tall for him. Not the
Captain--the cloaked figure was too slight. No one Grace knew, and no
ghost; for he stood still an instant, lit a cigar, and resumed his walk,
smoking. He had loitered up and down the terrace for about a quarter of
an hour, when another figure came out from the shadows and joined him. A
woman this time, with a shawl wrapped round her, and a white cloud on
her head. The moonlight fell full on her face--pale and beautiful. Grace
could hardly repress a cry--it was Kate Danton.
The smoker advanced. Miss Danton took his arm, and together they walked
up and down, talking earnestly. Once or twice Kate looked up at the
darkened windows; but the watcher was not to be seen, and they walked
on. Half an hour, an hour, passed; the hall clock struck one, and then
the two midnight pedestrians disappeared round the corner and were gone.
The moments passed, and still Grace sat wondering, and of her wonder
finding no end. What did it mean? Who was this man with whom the
proudest girl the sun ever shone on walked by stealth, and at midnight?
Who was he? Suddenly in the silence and darkness of the coming morning,
a thought struck her that brought the blood to her face.
"Mr. Richards."
She clasped her hands together. Conviction as positive as certainty
thrilled along every nerve. Mr. Richards, the recluse, was the midnight
walker--Mr. Richards, who was no invalid at all; and who, shut up all
day, came out in the dead of night, when the household were asleep, to
take the air in the grounds. There, in the solemn hush of her room,
Rose's thoughtless words came back to her like a revelation.
"Where there is secrecy there is guilt."
When the family met at breakfast, Grace looked at Kate with a new
interest. But the quiet face told nothing; she was a little pale; but
the violet eyes were as starry, and the smile as bright as ever. The
English mail had come in, and letters for her and her father lay on the
table. There was one, in a bold, masculine hand, with a coat-of-arms on
the seal, that brought the rosy blood in an instant to her face. She
walked away to one of the windows, to read it by herself. Grace watched
the tall, slender figure curiously. She was beginning to be a mystery to
her.
"She is on the best of terms with Sir Ronald Keith," she thought; "she
meets some man by night in the grounds, and the sight of this
handwriting brings all the blood in her body to her face. I suppose she
loves him; I suppose he loves her. I wonder what he would think if he
knew what I know."
The morning mail brought Rose a letter from Ottawa, which she devoured
with avidity, and flourished before Grace's eyes.
"A love letter, Mistress Grace," she said. "My darling Jules is dying to
have me back. I mean to ask papa to let me go. It is as dull as a
monastery of La Trappe here."
"What's the news from England, Kate?" asked her father, as they all sat
down to table.
The rosy light was at its brightest in Kate's face, but Sir Ronald
looked as black as a thunder cloud.
"Everybody is well, papa."
"Satisfactory, but not explanatory. Everybody means the good people at
Stanford Royals, I suppose?"
"Yes, papa."
"Where is Reginald?"
"At Windsor. But his regiment is ordered to Ireland."
"To Ireland! Then he can't come over this winter?"
"I don't know. He may get leave of absence."
"I hope so--I hope so. Capital fellow is Reginald. Did you see him
before you left England, Sir Ronald?"
"I met Lieutenant Stanford at a dinner party the week I left," said Sir
Ronald, stiffly--so stiffly, that the subject was dropped at once.
After breakfast, Captain Danton retired to his study to answer his
letters, and Sir Ronald and Kate started for their morning ride across
the country. She had invited Rose to accompany them, and Rose had rather
sulkily declined.
"I never admire spread-eagles," sneered the second Miss Danton, "and I
don't care for being third in these cases--I might be _de trop_. Sir
Ronald Keith's rather a stupid cavalier. I prefer staying at home, I
thank you."
"As you please," Kate said, and went off to dress.
Rose got a novel, and sat down at the upper half window to mope and
read. The morning was dark and overcast, the leaden sky threatened snow,
and the wailing December wind was desolation itself. The house was very
still; faint and far off the sound of Eeny's piano could be heard, and
now and then a door somewhere opening and shutting. Ogden came from Mr.
Richards' apartment, locked the door after him, put the key in his
pocket, and went away. Rose dropped her book and sat gazing at that
door--that Bluebeard's chamber--that living mystery in their
common-place Canadian home. While she looked at it, some one came
whistling up the stairs. It was her father, and he stopped at sight of
her.
"You here, Rose, my dear; I thought you had gone out riding with Kate."
"Kate doesn't want me, papa," replied Rose, with a French shrug. "She
has company she likes better."
"What, Sir Ronald! Nonsense, Rose! Kate is Sir Ronald's very good
friend--nothing more."
Rose gave another shrug.
"Perhaps so, papa. It looks like flirting, but appearances are
deceitful. Papa!"
"Yes, my dear."
"I wish you would let me go back to Ottawa!"
"To Ottawa! Why, you only left it the other day. What do you want to go
back to Ottawa for?"
"It's so dull here, papa," answered Rose, fidgeting with her book, "and
I had such a good time there. I shall die of the dismals in this house
before the winter is over."
"Then we must try and enliven it up a little for you. What would you
like, a house-warming?"
"Oh, papa! that would be delightful."
"All right, then, a house-warming it shall be. We must speak to Grace
and Kate about it; hold a council of war, you know, and settle
preliminaries. I can't spare my little Rosie just yet, and let her run
away to Ottawa."
Rose gave him a rapturous kiss, and Captain Danton walked away, unlocked
the green baize door, and disappeared.
When Kate came back from her ride, Rose informed her of her father's
proposal with sparkling eyes. Kate listened quietly, and made no
objection; neither did Grace; and so the matter was decided.
Rose had no time to be lonely after that. Her father gave her _carte
blanche_ in the matter of dress and ornament, and Miss Rose's earthly
happiness was complete. She, and Kate, and Grace went to Montreal to
make the necessary purchases, to lasso dressmakers and fetch them back
to St. Croix.
"I know a young woman I think will suit you," said Ma'am Ledru, the
cook. "She is an excellent dressmaker and embroideress; very poor, and
quite willing, I am sure, to go into the country. Her name is Agnes
Darling, and she lives in the Petite Rue de Saint Jacques."
Rose hastened to the Petite Rue de Saint Jacques at once, and in a small
room of a tenement house found the seamstress; a little pale, dark-eyed,
dark-haired creature, with a face that was a history of trouble, though
her years could not have numbered twenty. There was no difficulty in
engaging her: she promised to be ready to return with them to St. Croix
the following morning.
They only spent two days in the city, and were, of course, very busy all
the time. Grace took a few moments to try and find her brother, but
failed. He was not to be heard of at his customary address; he had been
talking of quitting Montreal, they told her there; probably he had done
so.
The Dantons, with the pale little dressmaker, returned next day, all
necessaries provided. The business of the house-warming commenced at
once. Danton Hall--ever spotless under the reign of Grace--was rubbed up
and scrubbed down from garret to cellar. Invitations were sent out far
and wide. Agnes Darling's needle flew from early dawn till late at
night; and Grace and the cook, absorbed in cake and jelly-making, were
invisible all day long in the lower regions. Eeny and Rose went heart
and soul into the delightful fuss, all new to them, but Kate took little
interest in it. She was Sir Ronald's very good friend still, and, like
Mrs. Micawber, never deserted him. Captain Danton hid his diminished
head in his study, in Mr. Richard's rooms, or took refuge with the Curé
from the hubbub.
The eventful night at last came round, clear, cold, and near Christmas.
The old ball-room of Danton Hall, disused so long, had been refitted,
waxed, and decorated; the long drawing-room was resplendent; the supper
table set in the dining-room was dazzling to look at, with silver,
Sèvres, and glittering glass; the dressing-rooms were in a state of
perfection; the servants all _en grande tenue_; and Danton Hall one
blaze of light. In the bedroom regions the mysteries of the toilet had
been going on for hours. Eunice was busy with her mistress; Agnes the
seamstress was playing _femme de chambre_ to Rose. Grace dressed herself
in twenty minutes, and then dressed Eeny, who only wore pink muslin and
a necklace of pearls, and looked fairy-like and fragile as ever. Grace,
in gray silk, with an emerald brooch, and her brown hair simply worn as
she always wore it, looked lady-like and unassuming.
The guests came by the evening train from Montreal, and the carriages of
the nearer neighbours began coming in rapid succession. Kate stood by
her cordial father's side, receiving their guests. So tall, so stately,
so exquisitely dressed--all the golden hair twisted in thick coils
around her regal head, and one diamond star flashing in its amber
glitter. Lovely with that flush on the delicate cheeks, that streaming
light in the blue eyes.
Rose was eclipsed. Rose looking her best, and very pretty, but nothing
beside her queenly sister. But Rose was very brilliant, flitting hither
and thither, dancing incessantly, and turning whiskered heads in all
directions. They could fall in love with pretty, coquettish Rose, those
very young gentlemen, who could only look at Kate from a respectful
distance in speechless admiration and awe. Rose was of their kind, and
they could talk to her; so Rose was the belle of the night, after all.
Sir Ronald Keith and two or three officers from Montreal, with side
whiskers, a long pedigree, and a first-rate opinion of themselves, were
the only gentlemen who had the temerity to approach the goddess of the
ball--oh! excepting the Reverend Augustus Clare, who, in his intense
admiration, was almost tongue-tied, and Doctor Danton, who, to the
surprise of every one except the master of the Hall, walked in, the last
guest of all.
"You look surprised, Miss Danton," he said, as they shook hands. "Did
not the Captain tell you I was coming?"
"Not a word."
"I returned to-day, knowing nothing of the house-warming. The Captain
met me, and, with his customary hospitality, insisted on my coming."
"We are very glad he has done so. Your sister tried to find you when we
were in--good Heaven! what is that?"
It was a sudden, startled scream, that made all pause who were standing
near. Butler Thomas appeared at the moment, flurried and in haste.
"What's the matter?" asked Captain Danton; and the startled faces of his
guests reiterated the question. "Who cried out?"
"Old Margery, sir. She's seen a ghost!"
"Seen what?"
"A ghost, sir; out in the tamarack walk?--She's fell down in a fit in
the hall."
There was a little chorus of startled exclamations from the ladies.
Captain Danton came forward, his florid face changing to white; and
Kate, all her colour gone, dropped her partner's arm.
"Come with me, Doctor Danton," he said. "Yes, Kate, you too. My friends,
do not let this foolish affair disturb you. Excuse us for a few moments,
and pray go on as if nothing had happened."
They left the ball-room together. The music, that had stopped, resumed;
dancing recommenced, and "all went merry as a marriage-bell." There was
only one, perhaps, who thought seriously of what had taken place. Grace,
standing near the door talking to an elderly major from the city, heard
Thomas' last words to his master as they went out.
"Ogden says it was him she seen, but Margery won't listen to him. Ogden
says he was out in the tamarack walk, and she mistook him in the
moonlight for a ghost."
Grace's thoughts went back to the night when she had seen the mysterious
walker under the tameracks. No, it was not Ogden, that old Margery had
seen, else Captain Danton and his daughter would not have worn such pale
and startled faces going out.
It was not Ogden, and it was not a ghost; but whose ghost did Margery
take it to be? The apparition in the tamarack walk must have resembled
some one she knew and now thought to be dead, else why should she think
it a spirit at all?
The whiskered major, who took Grace for one of the Captain's daughter's,
and was slightly _ebris_, found her very _distraite_ all of a sudden,
and answering his questions vaguely and at random. He did his best to
interest her, and failed so signally that he got up and left in disgust.
Grace sat still and watched the door. Half an hour
passed--three-quarters, and then her brother re-entered alone. She went
up to him at once, but his unreadable face told nothing.
"Well," she asked, anxiously, "how is Margery?"
"Restored and asleep."
"Does she really think she saw a ghost?"
"She really does, and was frightened into fits."
"Whose ghost was it?"
"My dear Grace," said the Doctor, "have sense. I believe the foolish old
woman mentioned some name to Miss Danton, but I never repeat nonsense.
She is in her dotage, I dare say, and sees double."
"Margery is no more in her dotage than you are," said Grace, vexed.
"Perhaps she is not the only one who has seen the ghost of Danton Hall."
"Grace! What do you mean?"
"Excuse me, Doctor Frank, I never talk nonsense. You can keep your
professional secrets; I'll find out from Margery all the same. Here is
the Captain; he looks better than when he went out. Where is Kate?"
"With Margery. She won't be left alone."
As she spoke, Rose came up, her brightest smiles in full play.
"I have been searching for you everywhere, Doctor Frank. You ought to be
sent to Coventry. Don't you know you engaged me for the German, and here
you stand talking to Grace. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir."
"So I am," said the Doctor. "Adieu, Grace. Pardon this once,
Mademoiselle, and for the remainder of the evening, for the remainder of
my life, I am entirely at your service."
Grace kept her station at the door watching for Kate. In another half
hour she appeared, slightly pale, but otherwise tranquil. She was
surrounded immediately by sundry "ginger-whiskered fellows," otherwise
the officers from Montreal, and lost to the housekeeper's view.
The house-warming was a success. Somewhere in the big, busy world
perhaps, crime, and misery, and shame, and sorrow, and starvation, and
all the catalogue of earthly horrors, were rife, but not at Danton Hall.
Time trod on flowers; enchanted music drifted the bright hours away; the
golden side of life was uppermost; and if those gay dancers knew what
tears and trouble meant, their faces never showed it. Kate, with her
tranquil and commanding beauty, wore a face as serene as a summer's sky;
and her father playing whist, was laughing until all around laughed in
sympathy. No, there could be no hidden skeleton, or the masks those wore
who knew of its grisly presence were something wonderful.
In the black and bitterly cold dawn of early morning the dancers went
shivering home. The first train bore the city guests, blue and fagged,
to Montreal; and Doctor Frank walked briskly through the piercing air
over the frozen snow to his hotel. And up in her room old Margery lay in
disturbed sleep, watched over by dozing Babette, and moaning out at
restless intervals.
"Master Harry! Master Harry! O Miss Kate! it was Master Harry's ghost!"