"Kate refused him a year ago, in England--I found it out by accident, not from her, of course; and yet here he is. It is the old story of the moth and the candle, and sometimes I laugh, and sometimes I am sorry for him. He has eight thousand a year, too; and the Keiths are great people in Scotland, I hear. Didn't I always try to impress it on you that it was better to be born handsome than rich? I am not worth fifteen hundred shillings a year, and in June (D. V.) beautiful Kate Danton is to be my wife.

Recant your heresy, and believe for the future.

"Angel, No. 2.--I told you there were more than one--has hazel eyes, pink cheeks, auburn curls, and the dearest little ways. She is not beautiful--she is not stately--she does not play and sing the soul out of your body, and yet--and yet----. Lauderdale, you always told me my peerless fiancee was a thousand times too good for me. I never believed you before. I do believe you now. She soars beyond my reach sometimes. I don't pretend to understand her, and--tell it not in Gath--I stand a little in awe of her. I never was on speaking terms with her most gracious majesty, whom Heaven long preserve; but, if I were, I fancy I should feel as I do sometimes talking to Kate. She is perfection, and I am--well, I am not, and she is very fond of me. Would she break her heart, do you think, if she does not become Mrs. Reginald Stanford? June is the time, but there is many a slip. I know what your answer will be--'She will break her heart if she does!' It is a bad business, old boy; but it is fate, or we will say so--and hazel eyes and auburn curls are very, very tempting.

"You used to think a good deal of Captain Danton, if I recollect right. By the way, how old is the Captain? I ask, because there is a housekeeper here, who is a distant cousin, one of the family, very quiet, sensible, lady-like, and six and twenty, who may be Mrs. Captain Danton one day. Mind, I don't say for certain, but I have my suspicions. He couldn't do better. Grace--that's her name--has a brother here, a doctor, very fine fellow, and so cute.

I catch him looking at me sometimes in a very peculiar manner, which I think I understand.

"You don't expect me before June, do you? Nevertheless, don't faint if I return to our 'right little, tight little' island before that.

Meantime, write and let me know how the world wags with you; and, only I know it is out of your line, I should ask you to offer a prayer for your unfortunate friend

"Reginald Stanford."

CHAPTER VIII.

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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sage, 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 pa.s.s 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 pa.s.s. 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 m.u.f.fled in a long cloak.

He pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sed 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 appet.i.te; 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.