THE GHOST AGAIN.
Rose Danton stood leaning against the low, old-fashioned chimney piece
in her bedroom staring at the fire with a very sulky face. Those who
fell in love with pretty Rose should have seen her in her sulky moods,
if they wished to be thoroughly disenchanted. Just at present, as she
stood looking gloomily into the fire, she was wondering how the
Honourable Reginald Stanford would feel on his wedding-day, or if he
would feel at all, if they should find her (Rose) robed in white,
floating in the fish-pond drowned! The fish-pond was large enough; and
Rose moodily recollected reading somewhere that when lovely woman stoops
to folly, and finds too late that men betray, the only way to hide that
folly from every eye, to bring repentance to her lover, to wring his
bosom, is to--die!
The clock down stairs struck eleven. Rose could hear them dispersing to
their bedrooms. She could hear, and she held her breath to listen, Mr.
Stanford, going past her door, whistling a tune of Kate's. Of Kate's, of
course! He was happy and could whistle, and she was miserable and
couldn't. If she had not wept herself as dry as a wrung sponge, she must
have relapsed into hysterics once more; but as she couldn't, with a
long-drawn sigh, she resolved to go to bed.
So to bed Rose went, but not to sleep. She tossed from side to side,
feverish and impatient; the more she tried to sleep, the more she
couldn't. It was quite a new experience for poor Rose, not used to
"tears at night instead of slumber." The wintry moonlight was shining
brightly in her room through the parted curtains, and that helped her
wakefulness, perhaps. As the clock struck twelve, she sprang up in
desperation, drew a shawl round her, and, in her night-dress, sat down
by the window, to contemplate the heavenly bodies.
Hark! what noise was that?
The house was as still as a vault; all had retired, and were probably
asleep. In the dead stillness, Rose heard a door open--the green baize
door of Bluebeard's room. Her chamber was very near that green door;
there could be no mistaking the sound. Once again she held her breath to
listen. In the profound hush, footsteps echoed along the uncarpeted
corridor, and passed her door. Was it Ogden on his way upstairs? No! the
footsteps paused at the next door--Kate's room; and there was a light
rap. Rose, aflame with curiosity, tip-toed to her own door, and applied
her ear to the key-hole. Kate's door opened; there was a whispered
colloquy; the listener could not catch the words, but the voice that
spoke to Kate was not the voice of Ogden. Five minutes--ten--then the
door shut, the footsteps went by her door again, and down stairs.
Who was it? Not Ogden, not her father; could it be--could it be Mr.
Richards himself.
Rose clasped her hands, and stood bewildered. Her own troubles had so
occupied her mind of late that she had almost forgotten Mr. Richards;
but now her old curiosity returned in full force.
"If he has gone out," thought Rose, "what is to hinder me from seeing
his rooms. I would give the world to see them!"
She stood for a moment irresolute.
Then, impulsively, she seized a dressing-gown, covered her bright head
with the shawl, opened her door softly, and peeped out.
All still and deserted. The night-lamp burned dim at the other end of
the long, chilly passage, but threw no light where she stood.
The green baize door stood temptingly half open; no creature was to be
seen--no sound to be heard. Rose's heart throbbed fast; the mysterious
stillness of the night, the ghostly shimmer of the moonlight, the
mystery and romance of her adventure, set every pulse tingling, but she
did not hesitate. Her slippered feet crossed the hall lightly; she was
beside the green door. Then there was another pause--a moment's
breathless listening, but the dead stillness of midnight was unbroken.
She tip-toed down the short corridor, and looked into the room. The
study was quite deserted; a lamp burned on a table strewn with books,
papers, and writing materials. Rose glanced wonderingly around at the
book-lined walls. Mr. Richards could pass the dull hours if those were
all novels, she thought.
The room beyond was unlit, save by the moon shining brightly through the
parted curtains. Rose examined it, too; it was Mr. Richard's bedroom,
but the bed had not been slept in that night. Everything was orderly and
elegant; no evidences of its occupant being an invalid. One rapid,
comprehensive glance was all the girl waited to take; then she turned to
hurry back to her own room, and found herself face to face with Ogden.
The valet stood in the doorway, looking at her, his countenance wearing
its habitual calm and respectful expression. But Rose recoiled, and
turned as white as though she had been a ghost.
"It is very late, Miss Rose," said Ogden calmly. "I think you had better
not stay here any longer."
Rose clasped her hands supplicatingly.
"Oh, Ogden! Don't tell papa! Pray, don't tell papa!"
"I am very sorry, Miss Rose, but it would be as much as my place is
worth. I must!"
He stood aside to let her pass. Rose, with all her flightiness, was too
proud to plead with a servant, and walked out in silence.
Not an instant too soon. As she opened her door, some one came upstairs;
some one who was tall, and slight; and muffled in a long cloak.
He passed through the baize door, before she had time to see his face,
closed it after him, and was gone.
Rose locked her door, afraid of she know not what; and sat down on the
bedside to think. Who was this Mr. Richards who passed for an invalid,
and who was no invalid? Why was he shut up here, where no one could see
him, and why was all this mystery? Rose thought of "Jane Eyre" and Mr.
Rochester's wife, but Mr. Richards could not be mad or they never would
trust him out alone at night. What, too, would her father say to her
to-morrow? She quailed a little at the thought; she had never seen her
indulgent father out of temper in her life. He took the most
disagreeable contre-temps with imperturbable good-humour, but how would
he take this?
"I should not like to offend papa," thought Rose, uneasily. "He is very
good to me, and does everything I ask him. I do hope he won't be angry.
I almost wish I had not gone!"
There was no sleep for her that night. When morning came, she was almost
afraid to go down to breakfast and face her father; but when the bell
rang, and she did descend, her father was not there.
Ogden came in with his master's excuses--Captain Danton was very busy,
and would breakfast in his study. The news took away Rose's morning
appetite; she sat crumbling her roll on her plate, and feeling that
Ogden had told him, and that that was the cause of his non-appearance.
As they rose from the table, Ogden entered again, bowed gravely to Rose,
and informed her she was wanted in the study.
Kate looked at her sister in surprise, and noticed with wonder her
changing face. But Rose, without a word, followed the valet, her heart
throbbing faster than it had throbbed last night.
Captain Danton was pacing up and down his study when she entered, with
the sternest face she had ever seen him wear. In silence he pointed to a
seat, continuing his walk; his daughter sat down, pale, but otherwise
dauntless.
"Rose!" he said, stopping before her, "what took you into Mr. Richards'
rooms last night?"
"Curiosity, papa," replied Rose, readily, but in secret quaking.
"Do you know you did a very mean act? Do you know you were playing the
spy?"
The colour rushed to Rose's face, and her head dropped.
"You knew you were forbidden to enter there; you knew you were prying
into what was no affair of yours; you knew you were doing wrong, and
would displease me; and yet in the face of all this, you deliberately
stole into his room like a spy, like a thief, to discover for yourself.
Rose Danton, I am ashamed of you!"
Rose burst out crying. Her father was very angry, and deeply mortified;
and Rose really was very fond of her indulgent father.
"Oh, papa! I didn't mean--I never thought--oh, please, papa, forgive
me!"
Captain Danton resumed his walk up and down, his anger softened at the
sight of her distress.
"Is it the first time this has occurred?" he asked, stopping again; "the
truth, Rose, I can forgive anything but a lie."
"Yes, papa."
"You never have been there before?"
"No, never!"
Again he resumed his walk, and again he stopped before her.
"Why did you go last night?"
"I couldn't sleep, papa. I felt worried about something, and I was
sitting by the window. I heard Mr. Richards' door open, and some one
come out and rap at Kate's room. Kate opened it, and I heard them
talking."
Her father interrupted her.
"Did you hear what they said?" he asked sharply.
"No papa--only the sound of their voices. It was not your voice, nor
Ogden's; so I concluded it must be Mr. Richards' himself. I heard him go
down stairs, and then I peeped out. His door was open, and I--I--"
"Went in!"
"Yes, papa," very humbly.
"Did you see Mr. Richards?"
"I saw some one, tall and slight, come up stairs and go in, but I did
not see his face."
"And that is all!"
"Yes, papa."
Once more he began pacing backward and forward, his face very grave, but
not so stern. Rose watched him askance, nervous and uncomfortable.
"My daughter," he said at last, "you have done very wrong, and grieved
me more than I can say. This is a serious matter--more serious by far
than you imagine. You have discovered, probably, that other reasons than
illness confine Mr. Richards to his rooms."
"Yes, papa."
"Mr. Richards is not an invalid--at least not now--although he was ill
when he came here. But the reasons that keep him a prisoner in this
house are so very grave that I dare not confide them to you. This much I
will say--his life depends upon it."
"Papa!" Rose cried, startled.
"His life depends upon it," repeated Captain Danton. "Only three in this
house know his secret--myself, Ogden, and your sister Kate. Ogden and
Kate I can trust implicitly; can I place equal confidence in you?"
"Yes, papa," very faintly.
"Mr. Richards," pursued Captain Danton, with a slight tremor of voice,
"is the nearest and dearest friend I have on this earth. It would break
my heart, Rose, if an ill befell him. Do you see now why I am so anxious
to preserve his secret; why I felt so deeply your rash act of last
night?"
"Forgive me, papa!" sobbed Rose. "I am sorry; I didn't know. Oh, please,
papa!"
He stooped and kissed her.
"My thoughtless little girl! Heaven knows how freely I forgive you--only
promise me your word of honour not to breathe a word of this."
"I promise, papa."
"Thank you, my dear. And now you may go; I have some writing to do. Go
and take a ride to cheer you up after all this dismal talk, and get back
your roses before luncheon time."
He kissed her again and held the door open for her to pass out. Rose,
with a great weight off her mind went down the passage, and met Eeny
running upstairs.
"I say, Rose," exclaimed her sister, "don't you want to go to a ball?
Well, there are invitations for the Misses Danton in the parlour."
"A ball, Eeny? Where?"
"At the Ponsonbys', next Thursday night. Sir Ronald, Doctor Frank, papa,
and Mr. Stanford are all invited."
Rose's delight at the news banished all memory of the unpleasant scene
just over. A ball was the summit of Rose's earthly bliss, and a ball at
the Ponsonbys' really meant something. In ten minutes her every thought
was absorbed in the great question, "What shall I wear?"
"To-day is Wednesday," thought Rose. "Thursday one, Friday two, Saturday
three, Monday four, Tuesday five, Wednesday six, Thursday seven. Plenty
of time to have my new silk made. I'll go and speak to Agnes at once."
She tripped away to the sewing-room in search of the little seamstress.
The door was ajar; she pushed it open, but paused in astonishment at the
sight which met her eyes.
The sewing-room was on the ground floor, its one window about five feet
from the ground. At this window which was open, sat the seamstress, her
work lying idly on her lap, twisting her fingers in a restless, nervous
sort of way peculiar to her. Leaning against the window from without,
his arm on the sill, stood Doctor Danton, talking as if he had known
Agnes Darling all his life.
The noise of Rose's entrance, slight as it was, caught his quick ear. He
looked up and met her surprised eyes, coolly composedly.
"Don't let me intrude!" said Rose, entering, when she found herself
discovered. "I did not expect to see Doctor Danton here."
"Very likely," replied the imperturbable Doctor; "it is an old habit of
mine turning up in unexpected places. Besides, what was I to do? Grace
in the kitchen was invisible, Miss Kate had gone riding with Mr.
Stanford, Miss Rose was closeted mysteriously with papa. Miss Eeny,
practising the 'Battle of Prague,' was not to be disturbed. In my
distraction I came here, where Miss Darling has kindly permitted me to
remain and study the art of dressmaking."
He made his speech purposely long, that Rose might not see Miss
Darling's confused face. But Rose saw it, and believed as much of the
gentleman's story as she chose.
"And now that you have discovered it," said Rose, "I dare say we will
have you flying on all occasions to this refugium peccatorum. Are you
going? Don't let me frighten you away."
"You don't; but I want to smoke a cigar under the tamaracks. You haven't
such a thing as a match about you, have you? No matter; I've got one
myself."
He strolled away. Rose looked suspiciously at the still confused face of
the sewing-girl.
"How do you come to know Doctor Danton?" she asked abruptly.
"I--he--I mean the window was open and he was passing, and he stopped to
speak," stammered Agnes, more confusedly still.
"I dare say," said Rose; "but he would not have stopped unless he had
known you before, would he?"
"I--saw him once by accident before--I don't know him--"
She stopped and looked piteously at Rose. She was a childish little
thing, very nervous, and evidently afraid of any more questions.
"Well," said Rose, curtly; "if you don't choose to tell, of course you
needn't. He never was a lover of yours, was he?"
"Oh, no! no! no!"
"Then I don't see anything to get so confused about. What are you
working at?"
"Miss Eeny's jacket."
"Then Miss Eeny's jacket must wait, for I want my new silk made for
Thursday evening. Come up to my room, and get to work at once."
Agnes rose obediently. Rose led the way, her mind straying back to the
scene in the sewing-room her entrance had disturbed.
"Look here, Miss Darling," she broke out; "you must have known Doctor
Danton before. Now you needn't deny it. Your very face proves you
guilty. Tell the truth, and shame the----. Didn't you know him before
you came to Danton Hall?"
They were in Roses room by this time. To the great surprise of that
inquisitive young lady, Agnes Darling sank down upon a lounge, covered
her face with her hands, and burst into tears.
"Goodness me!" exclaimed the second Miss Danton, as soon as surprise
would let her speak, "what on earth is the matter with you? What are you
crying about? What has Doctor Danton done to you?"
"Nothing! nothing!" cried the worried little seamstress. "Oh, nothing!
It is not that! I am very foolish and weak; but oh, please don't mind
me, and don't ask me about it. I can't help it, and I am very, very
unhappy."
"Well," said Rose, after a blank pause; "stop crying. I didn't know you
would take it so seriously, or I shouldn't have asked you. Here's the
dress, and I want you to take a great deal of pains with it, Agnes. Take
my measure."
Rose said no more to the seamstress on a subject so evidently
distressing; but that evening she took Doctor Frank himself to task. She
was at the piano, which Kate had vacated for a game of chess with Mr.
Stanford, and Grace's brother was devotedly turning her music. Rose
looked up at him abruptly, her fingers still rattling off a lively
mazurka.
"Doctor Danton, what have you been doing to Agnes Darling?"
"I! Doing! I don't understand!"
"Of course you don't. Where was it you knew her?"
"Who says I knew her?"
"I do. There, no fibs; they won't convince me, and you will only be
committing sin for nothing. Was it in Montreal?"
"Really, Miss Rose--"
"That will do. She won't tell, she only cries. You won't tell; you only
equivocate. I don't care. I'll find out sooner or later."
"Was she crying?"
"I should think so. People like to make mysteries in this house, in my
opinion. Where there is secrecy there is something wrong. This morning
was not the first time you ever talked to Agnes Darling."
"Perhaps not," replied Doctor Danton, with a very grave face; "but, poor
child! what right have I to make known the trials she has undergone? She
has been very unfortunate, and I once had the opportunity to befriend
her. That is all I know of her, or am at liberty to tell."
There was that in Doctor Frank's face that, despite Rose's assurance,
forbade her asking any more questions.
"But I shall never rest till I find out," thought the young lady. "I've
got at Mr. Richards' and I'll get at yours as sure as my name is Rose."
The intervening days before the ball, Rose was too much absorbed in her
preparations, and anticipations of conquest, to give her mind much to
Agnes Darling and her secrets. That great and hidden trouble of her
life--her unfortunate love affair, was worrying her too. Mr. Stanford,
in pursuance of his promise to Kate, played the agreeable to her sister
with a provoking perseverance that was proof against any amount of
snubbing, and that nearly drove Rose wild. He would take a seat by her
side, always in Kate's presence, and talk to her by the hour, while she
could but listen, and rebel inwardly. Never, even while she chafed most,
had she loved him better. That power of fascination, that charm of face,
of voice, of smile, that had conquered her fickle heart the first time
she saw him, enthralled her more and more hopelessly with every passing
day. It was very hard to sit there, sullen and silent, and keep her eyes
averted, but the Danton pluck stood her in good stead, and the memory of
his treachery to her goaded her on.
"It's of no use, Kate," he said to his lady-love; "our pretty Rose will
have nothing to say to me. I more than half believe she is in love with
that very clever Doctor Frank."
"Dr. Frank? Oh, no; he is not half handsome enough for Rose."
"He is a thoroughly fine fellow, though. Are you quite sure he has not
taken Rose captive?"
"Quite. He is very well to flirt with--nothing more. Rose cares nothing
for him, but I am not so sure he does not care for her. Rose is very
pretty."
"Very," smiled Mr. Stanford, "and knows it. I wonder if she will dance
with me the night of the ball?"
The night of the ball came, bright, frosty, and calm. The large, roomy,
old-fashioned family carriage held Rose, Eeny, Sir Ronald, and Doctor
Danton, while Mr. Stanford drove Kate over in a light cutter. The
Ponsonbys, who were a very uplifted sort of people, had not invited
Grace; and Captain Danton, at the last moment, announced his intention
of staying at home also.
"I am very comfortable where I am," said the Captain, lounging in an
arm-chair before the blazing fire; "and the trouble of dressing and
going out this cold night is more than the ball is worth. Make my
excuses, my dear; tell them I have had a sudden attack of gout, if you
like, or anything else that comes uppermost."
"But, papa," expostulated Kate, very much surprised, for the master of
Danton Hall was eminently social in his habits, "I should like you to
come so much, and the Ponsonbys will be so disappointed."
"They'll survive it, my dear, never fear. I prefer staying at home with
Grace and Father Francis, who will drop in by-and-by. There, Kate, my
dear, don't waste your breath coaxing. Reginald, take her away."
Mr. Stanford, with the faintest shadow of a knowing smile on his face,
took Kate's arm and led her down stairs.
"The brown eyes and serene face of your demure housekeeper have stronger
charms for my papa-in-law than anything within the four walls of the
Ponsonbys. What would Kate say, I wonder, if I told her?"
As usual, Captain Danton's two daughters were the belles of the room.
Kate was queenly as ever, and as far out of the reach of everything
masculine, with one exception, as the moon; Rose, in a changeful silk,
half dove, half pink, that blushed as she walked, with a wreath of ivy
in her glossy hair, turned heads wherever she went. Doctor Frank had the
privilege of the first dance. After that she was surrounded by all the
most eligible young men in the room. Rose, with a glow on her rounded
cheeks, and a brilliancy in her eyes, that excitement had lent, danced
and flirted, and laughed, and sang, and watched furtively, all the
while, the only man present she cared one iota for. That eminently
handsome young officer, Mr. Stanford, after devoting himself, as in duty
bound, to his stately fiancée, resigned her, after a while, to an
epauletted Colonel from Montreal, and made himself agreeable to Helen
Ponsonby, and Emily Howard, and sundry other pretty girls. Rose watched
him angry and jealous inwardly, smiling and radiant outwardly. Their
fingers touched in the same set, but Rose never deigned him a glance.
Her perfumed skirts brushed him as she flew by in the redowa, but she
never looked up.
"He shall see how little I care," thought jealous Rose. "I suppose he
thinks I am dying for him, but he shall find out how much he is
mistaken."
With this thought in her mind, she sat down while her partner went for
an ice. It was the first time that night she had been a moment alone.
Mr. Stanford, leaning against a pillar idly, took advantage of it, and
was beside her before she knew it. Her cheeks turned scarlet, and her
heart quickened involuntarily as he sat down beside her.
"I have been ignored so palpably all evening that I am half afraid to
come near you," he said; "will it be high treason to ask you to waltz
with me!"
Alas for Rose's heroic resolutions! How was she to resist the persuasive
voice and smile of this man? How was she to resist the delight of
waltzing with him? She bowed in silence, still with averted eyes; and
Lieutenant Stanford, smiling slightly, drew her hand within his arm. Her
late partner came up with the ice, but Rose had got something better
than ice cream, and did not want it. The music of the German waltz
filled the long ball-room with harmony; his arm slid round her waist,
her hand was clasped in his, the wax floor slipped from under her feet,
and Rose floated away into elysium.
The valse d'ecstase was over, and they were in a dim, half-lighted
conservatory. Tropical flowers bloomed around them, scenting the warm
air; delicious music floated entrancingly in. The cold white wintry moon
flooded the outer world with its frosty glory, and Rose felt as if
fairyland were no myth, and fairy tales no delusion. They were alone in
the conservatory; how they got there she never knew; how she came to be
clinging to his arm, forgetful of past, present, and future, she never
could understand.
"Rose," said that most musical of voices; "when will you learn to forget
and forgive? See, here is a peace-offering!"
He had a white camellia in his button-hole--a flower that half an hour
ago had been chief beauty of Kate's bouquet. He took it out now, and
twined its long stem in and out of her abundant curls.
"Wear it," he said, "and I shall know I am forgiven. Wear it for my
sake, Rose."
There was a rustling behind them of a lady's-dress, and the deep tones
of a man's voice talking. Rose started away from his side, the guilty
blood rushing to her face at sight of her elder sister on Doctor
Danton's arm.
Kate's clear eyes fixed on her sister's flushed, confused face, on the
waxen camellia, her gift to her lover, and then turned upon Mr.
Stanford. That eminently nonchalant young Englishman was as cool as the
frosty winter night.
"I should think you two might have selected some other apartment in the
house for a promenade, and not come interrupting here," he said,
advancing. "Miss Rose and I were enjoying the first tête-à-tête we have
had since my arrival. But as you are here, Kate, and as I believe we are
to dance the German together--"
"And you resign Miss Rose to me?" said Doctor Frank.
"There is no alternative. Take good care of her, and adieu."
He led Kate out of the conservatory. Doctor Frank offered his arm to
Rose, still hovering guiltily aloof.
"And I believe you promised to initiate me into the mysteries of the
German. Well, do you want me?"
This last was to a man-servant who had entered, and looked as if he had
something to say.
"Yes, sir--if you are Doctor Danton."
"I am Doctor Danton. What is it?"
"It's a servant from the Hall, sir. Captain Danton's compliments, and
would you go there at once?"
Rose gave a little scream, and clutched her companion's arm.
"Oh, Doctor Frank, can papa be sick?"
"No, Miss," said the man, respectfully, "it's not your father; it's the
young woman what sews, Thomas says--" hesitating.
"Well," said Doctor Frank, "Thomas says what?"
"Thomas says, sir, she see a ghost!"
"A what?"
"A ghost, sir; that's what Thomas says," replied the man, with a grin;
"and she's gone off into fainting-fits, and would you return at once, he
says. The sleigh is at the door."
"Tell him I will be there immediately."
He turned to Rose, smiling at her blank face.
"What shall I do with you, Mademoiselle? To whom shall I consign you? I
must make my adieus to Mrs. Ponsonby and depart."
Rose grasped his arm, and held it tight, her bewildered eyes fixed on
his face.
"Seen a ghost!" she repeated blankly. "That is twice! Doctor Frank, is
Danton Hall haunted?"
"Yes; haunted by the spirit of mischief in the shape of Rose Danton,
nothing worse."
"But this is the second time. There was old Margery, and now Agnes
Darling. There must be something in it!"
"Of course there is--an over-excited imagination. Miss Darling has seen
a tall tree covered with snow waving in the moonlight, and has gone into
fainting fits. Now, my dear Miss, don't hold me captive any longer; for,
trying as it is, I really must leave you."
Rose dropped his arm.
"Yes, go at once. Never mind me; I am going in search of Kate."
It took some time to find Kate. When found, she was dancing with a
red-coated officer, and Rose had to wait until the dance was over.
She made her way to her sister's side immediately. Miss Danton turned to
her with a brilliant smile, that faded at the first glance.
"How pale you are, Rose! What is it?"
"Am I pale?" said Rose, carelessly; "the heat, I dare-say. Do you know
Doctor Frank has gone?"
"Gone! Where?"
"To the Hall. Papa sent for him."
"Papa? Oh, Rose--"
"There! There is no occasion to be alarmed; papa is well enough; it is
Agnes Darling."
"Agnes! What is the matter with Agnes?"
"She has seen a ghost!"
Kate stared--so did the young officer.
"What did you say, Rose?" inquired Kate, wonderingly.
"She--has--seen--a--ghost!" slowly repeated Rose; "as old Margery did
before her, you know; and, like Margery, has gone off into fits. Papa
sent for Doctor Frank, and he departed half an hour ago."
Slowly out of Kate's face every trace of colour faded. She rose
abruptly, a frightened look in her blue eyes.
"Rose, I must go home--I must see Agnes. Captain Grierson, will you be
kind enough to find Mr. Stanford and send him?"
Captain Grierson hastened on his mission. Rose looked at her with wide
open eyes.
"Go home--so early! Why, Kate, what are you thinking of?"
"Of Agnes Darling. You can stay, if you like. Sir Ronald is your
escort."
"Thank you. A charming escort he is, too--grimmer than old Time in the
primer. No; if you leave, so do I."
Mr. Stanford sauntered up while she was speaking, and Rose drew back.
"What is it, Kate? Grierson says you are going home."
Kate's answer was an explanation. Mr. Reginald Stanford set up an
indecorous laugh.
"A ghost! That's capital! Why did you not tell me before that Danton
Hall was haunted, Kate?"
"I want to return immediately," was Kate's answer a little coldly. "I
must speak to Mr. Ponsonby and find Eeny. Tell Sir Ronald, please, and
hold yourself in readiness to attend us."
She swept off with Rose to find their hostess. Mrs. Ponsonby's regrets
were unutterable, but Miss Danton was resolute.
"How absurd, you know, Helen," she said, to her daughter, when they were
gone; "such nonsense about a sick seamstress."
"I thought Kate Danton was proud," said Miss Helen. "That does not look
like it. I am not sorry she has gone, however, half the men in the room
were making idiots of themselves about her."
Kate and Reginald Stanford returned as they had come, in the light
sleigh; and Sir Ronald, Rose and Eeny, in the carriage. Rose, wrapped in
her mantel, shrunk away in a corner, and never opened her lips. She
watched gloomily, and so did the baronet, the cutter flying past over
glittering snow, and Kate's sweet face, pale as the moonlight itself.
Captain Danton met them in the entrance hall, his florid face less
cheery than usual. Kate came forward, her anxious inquiring eyes
speaking for her.
"Better, my dear; much better," her father answered. "Doctor Frank works
miracles. Grace and he are with her; he has given her an opiate, and I
believe she is asleep."
"But what is it, papa?" cried Rose. "Did she see a ghost!"
"A ghost, my dear," said the Captain, chucking her under the chin. "You
girls are as silly as geese, and imagine you see anything you like. She
isn't able to tell what frightened her, poor little thing! Eunice is the
only one who seems to know anything at all about it."
"And what does Eunice say?" asked Kate.
"Why," said Captain Danton, "it seems Eunice and Agnes were to sit up
for you two young ladies, who are not able to take off your own clothes
yet, and they chose Rose's room so sit in. About two hours ago, Agnes
complained of toothache, and said she would go down stairs for some
painkiller that was in the sewing-room. Eunice, who was half-asleep,
remained where she was; and ten minutes after heard a scream that
frightened her out of her wits. We had all retired, but the night-lamp
was burning; and rushing out, she found Agnes leaning against the wall,
all white and trembling. The moment Eunice spoke to her, 'I saw his
ghost!' she said, in a choking whisper, and fell back in a dead faint in
Eunice's arms. I found her so when I came out, for Eunice cried lustily
for help, and Grace and all the servants were there in two minutes. We
did everything for her, but all in vain. She lay like one dead. Then
Grace proposed to send for her brother. We sent. He came, and brought
the dead to life."
"An extraordinary tale," said Reginald Stanford. "When she came to life,
what did she say?"
"Nothing. Doctor Frank gave her an opiate that soothed her and sent her
to sleep."
As he spoke, Doctor Frank himself appeared, his calm face as
impenetrable as ever.
"How is your patient, Doctor?" asked Kate.
"Much better, Miss Kate. In a day or two we will have her all right, I
think. She is a nervous little creature, with an overstrung and highly
imaginative temperament. I wonder she has not seen ghosts long ago."
"You are not thinking of leaving us," said Captain Danton. "No, no, I
won't hear of it. We can give you a bed and breakfast here equal to
anything down at the hotel, and it will save you a journey up to-morrow
morning. Is Grace with her yet?"
"Yes, Grace insists on remaining till morning. There is no necessity,
though, for she will not awake."
Kate gathered up the folds of her rich ball-dress, and ran up the
polished oaken stair, nodding adieu. Not to her own room, however, but
to that of the seamstress.
The small chamber was dimly lighted by a lamp turned low. By the bedside
sat Grace, wrapped in a shawl; on the pillow lay the white face of Agnes
Darling, calm in her slumber, but colourless as the pillow itself.
Kate bent over her, and Grace arose at her entrance. It was such a
contrast; the stately, beautiful girl, with jewelled flowers in her
hair, her costly robe trailing the carpetless floor, the perfume of her
dress and golden hair scenting the room, and the wan little creature, so
wasted and pale, lying asleep on the low bed. Her hands grasped the
bed-clothes in her slumber, and with every rise and fall of her breast,
rose and fell a little locket worn round her neck by a black cord.
Kate's fingers touched it lightly.
"Poor soul!" she said; "poor little Agnes! Are you going to stay with
her until morning, Grace?"
"Yes, Miss Danton."
"I could not go to my room without seeing her; but now, there is no
necessity to linger. Good-morning."
Miss Danton left the room. Grace sat down again, and looked at the
locket curiously.
"I should like to open that and see whose picture it contains, and
yet--"
She looked a little ashamed, and drew back the hand that touched it. But
curiosity--woman's intensest passion--was not to be resisted.
"What harm can it be?" she thought. "She will never know."
She lifted the locket, lightly touched the spring, and it flew open. It
contained more than a picture, although there was a picture of a
handsome, boyish face that somehow had to Grace a familiar look. A slip
of folded paper, a plain gold ring, and a tress of brown, curly hair
dropped out. Grace opened the little slip of paper, and read it with an
utterly confounded face. It was partly written and partly printed, and
was the marriage certificate of Agnes Grant and Henry Darling. It bore
date New York, two years before.
Grace dropped the paper astounded. Miss Agnes Darling was a married
woman, then, and, childish as she looked, had been so for two years.
What were her reasons for denying it, and where was Henry Darling--dead
or deserted?
She look at the pictured face again. Very good-looking, but very
youthful and irresolute. Whom had she ever seen that looked like that?
Some one, surely, for it was as familiar as her own in the glass; but
who, or where, or when, was all densest mystery.
There was an uneasy movement of the sleeper. Grace, feeling guilty, put
back hastily the tress of hair--his, no doubt--the ring--a wedding-ring,
of course--and the marriage certificate. She closed the locket, and laid
it back on the fluttering heart. Poor little pale Agnes! that great
trouble of woman's life, loving and losing, had come to her then
already.
In the cold, gray dawn of the early morning, Grace resigned her office
to Babette, the housemaid, and sought her room. Agnes Darling still
slept--the merciful sleep Doctor Frank's opiate had given her.