"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 pa.s.sion, 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 ca.n.a.l 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, pa.s.sed; the hall clock struck one, and then the two midnight pedestrians disappeared round the corner and were gone.

The moments pa.s.sed, 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.