"Don't say any such thing, Scarsbrook," said Helbeck, coming forward to support him. "You know I don't believe in this ghost business--and never did. You saw some stranger in the park--and she pa.s.sed you too quickly for you to see where she went to. You may be sure that'll turn out to be the truth. You remember--it's a public path--anybody might be there. Just try and take that view of it--and don't fret, for your wife's sake. We'll make inquiries, and I'll come and see you to-morrow. And as for death warrants, we're all in G.o.d's care, you know--don't forget that."

He smiled with a kindly concern and pity on the old man. But Scarsbrook shook his head.

"It wur t' Bannisdale Lady," he repeated; "I've often heerd on her--often--and noo I've seen her."

"Well, to-morrow you'll be quite proud of it," said Helbeck cheerfully.

"Come, and let me put you into the cart. I think, if we make a comfortable seat for you, you'll be fit to drive home now."

Supported by the Squire's strong arm on one side, and his wife on the other, Scarsbrook managed to hobble down the long pa.s.sage leading to the door in the inner courtyard, where the pony cart was standing. It was evident that his perceptions were still wholly dazed. He had not recognised or spoken to anyone in the room but the Squire--not even to his old crony Mrs. Denton.

Laura drew a long breath.

"Augustina, do go to bed," she said, going up to her stepmother--"or you'll be ill next."

Augustina allowed herself to be led upstairs. But it was long before she would let her stepdaughter leave her. She was full of supernatural terrors and excitements, and must talk about all the former appearances of the ghost--the stories that used to be told in her childhood--the new or startling details in the old man's version, and so forth. "What could he have meant by the light on the hand?" she said wondering. "I never heard of that before. And she used always to be in grey; and now he says that she had a black dress from top to toe."

"Their wardrobes are so limited--poor damp, sloppy things!" said Laura flippantly, as she brushed her stepmother's hair. "Do you suppose this nonsense will be all over the country-side to-morrow, Augustina?"

"What do you _really_ think he saw, Laura?" cried Mrs. Fountain, wavering between doubt and belief.

"Goodness!--don't ask me." Miss Fountain shrugged her small shoulders. "I don't keep a family ghost."

When at last Augustina had been settled in bed, and persuaded to take some of her sleeping medicine, Laura was bidding her good-night, when Mrs. Fountain said, "Oh! I forgot, Laura--there was a letter brought in for you from the post-office, by Wilson this afternoon--he gave it to Mrs. Denton, and she forgot it till after dinner----"

"Of course--because it was mine," said Laura vindictively. "Where is it?"

"On the drawing-room chimney-piece."

"All right. I'll go for it. But I shall be disturbing Mr. Helbeck."

"Oh! no--it's much too late. Alan will have gone to his study."

Miss Fountain stood a moment outside her stepmother's door, consulting her watch.

For she was anxious to get her letter, and not at all anxious to fall in with Mr. Helbeck. At least, so she would have explained herself had anyone questioned her. In fact, her wishes and intentions were in tumultuous confusion. All the time that she was waiting on Augustina, her brain, her pulse was racing. In the added touch of stiffness which she had observed in Helbeck's manner, she easily divined the result of that conversation he had no doubt held with Augustina after dinner, while she was by the river. Did he think even worse of her than he had before?

Well!--if he and Augustina could do without her, let them send her away--by all manner of means! She had her own friends, her own money, was in all respects her own mistress, and only asked to be allowed to lead her life as she pleased.

Nevertheless--as she crossed the darkness of the hall, with her candle in her hand--Laura Fountain was very near indeed to a fit of wild weeping.

During the months following her father's death, these agonies of crying had come upon her night after night--unseen by any human being. She felt now the approach of an old enemy and struggled with it. "One mustn't have this excitement every night!" she said to herself, half mocking. "No nerves would stand it."

A light under the library door. Well and good. How--she wondered--did he occupy himself there, through so many solitary hours? Once or twice she had heard him come upstairs to bed, and never before one or two o'clock.

Suddenly she stood abashed. She had thrown open the drawing-room door, and the room lay before her, almost in darkness. One dim lamp still burned at the further end, and in the middle of the room stood Mr.

Helbeck, arrested in his walk to and fro, and the picture of astonishment.

Laura drew back in real discomfiture. "Oh, I beg your pardon, Mr.

Helbeck! I had no notion that anyone was still here."

"Is there anything I can do for you?" he said advancing.

"Augustina told me there was a letter for me this evening."

"Of course. It is here on the mantelpiece. I ought to have remembered it."

He took up the letter and held it towards her. Then suddenly he paused, and sharply withdrawing it, he placed it on a table beside him, and laid his hand upon it. She saw a flash of quick resolution in his face, and her own pulses gave a throb.

"Miss Fountain, will you excuse my detaining you for a moment? I have been thinking much about this old man's story, and the possible explanation of it. It struck me in a very singular way. As you know, I have never paid much attention to the ghost story here--we have never before had a testimony so direct. Is it possible--that you might throw some light upon it? You left us, you remember, after dinner. Did you by chance go into the garden?--the evening was tempting, I think. If so, your memory might possibly recall to you some--slight thing."

"Yes," she said, after a moment's hesitation, "I did go into the garden."

His eye gleamed. He came a step nearer.

"Did you see or hear anything--to explain what happened?"

She did not answer for a moment. She made a vague movement, as though to recover her letter--looked curiously into a gla.s.s case that stood beside her, containing a few Stuart relics and autographs. Then, with absolute self-possession, she turned and confronted him, one hand resting on the gla.s.s case.

"Yes; I can explain it all. I was the ghost!"

There was a moment's silence. A smile--a smile that she winced under, showed itself on Helbeck's lip.

"I imagined as much," he said quietly.

She stood there, torn by different impulses. Then a pa.s.sion of annoyance with herself, and anger with him, descended on her.

"Now perhaps you would like to know why I concealed it?" she said, with all the dignity she could command. "Simply, because I had gone out to meet and say good-bye to a person--who is my relation--whom I cannot meet in this house, and against whom there is here an unreasonable--" She hesitated; then resumed, leaning obstinately on the words--"Yes! take it all in all, it _is_ an unreasonable prejudice."

"You mean Mr. Hubert Mason?"

She nodded.

"You think it an unreasonable prejudice after what happened the other night?"

She wavered.

"I don't want to defend what happened the other night," she said, while her voice shook.

Helbeck observed her carefully. There was a great decision in his manner, and at the same time a fine courtesy.

"You knew, then, that he was to be in the park? Forgive my questions.

They are not mere curiosity."

"Perhaps not," she said indifferently. "But I think I have told you all that needs to be told. May I have my letter?"

She stepped forward.

"One moment. I wonder, Miss Fountain,"--he chose his words slowly--"if I could make you understand my position. It is this. My sister brings a young lady, her stepdaughter, to stay under my roof. That young lady happens to be connected with a family in this neighbourhood, which is already well known to me. For some of its members I have nothing but respect--about one I happen to have a strong opinion. I have reasons, for my opinion. I imagine that very few people of any way of thinking would hold me either unreasonable or prejudiced in the matter. Naturally, it gives me some concern that a young lady towards whom I feel a certain responsibility should be much seen with this young man. He is not her equal socially, and--pardon me--she knows nothing at all about the type to which he belongs. Indirectly I try to warn her. I speak to my sister as gently as I can. But from the first she rejects all I have to say--she gives me credit for no good intention--and she will have none of my advice. At last a disagreeable incident happens--and unfortunately the knowledge of it is not confined to ourselves----"