Please say to Doctor Vaughan that I will be at Hagar's cottage on Monday evening, but can't tell the precise time I may be able to appear. If he follows the main road through the village, until he has passed the grounds of Oakley, he will have no difficulty in finding the cottage. It stands alone, almost in the middle of a field, facing the west, and is the first habitation after Oakley.

"I cannot write to him," she said; "at least not now."

Then she wrote Claire a long, cheery letter, saying little of herself, and much of her friends,--of all save Doctor Vaughan. She _would_ not mention him tenderly, she _could_ not mention him lightly; so she would say of him nothing at all.

But if Madeline was astute, Claire, too, was beginning to develop that quality. So when the latter young lady read this letter, she smiled and said: "The dear little hypocrite! As if she could deceive me by this evidently studied neglect. Oh! you proud, stiff-necked, little detective!"

And their game of cross purposes went on.

Madeline had sealed her letters, and was about to reach for her hat preparatory to hastening with them to the post office, when her attention was arrested by a sound, slight but unusual, and not far away. She stood erect, silent, motionless, listening intently.

Presently the sound was repeated, and then a look of intelligence passed over the girl's face.

"Some one is in the deserted rooms," she thought. And she abandoned for the present her purpose of going out.

There was but one way to approach the closed-up rooms, and that way led past the door of Madeline's room.

A few paces beyond her door, the hall connecting the west wing with the more modern portion, made a sharp curve and opened into the main hall of that floor. Celine Leroque opened her door cautiously, having first donned her not very becoming walking attire. Then she took up her position just outside the angle of the western hall, and so close to it that if an approach was made from below, she could easily retire behind the angle.

[Illustration: "She stood erect, silent, motionless."--page 248.]

She had grown heartily tired of her sentinel task when, at last, a soft rustle was heard near at hand. Celine turned so quickly into the narrower hall that she fairly ran upon and stopped--Mrs. John Arthur!

who uttered a sharp exclamation expressive of surprise and annoyance.

Celine poured forth a mixture of French and English, expressive of her contrition and horror at having "almost overturned madame," and wound up by saying, "Madame has been to my room? Madame has desired some service, perhaps? If so, she has only to command."

Cora drew a breath of relief, having sufficiently recovered from the collision and accompanying confusion, to draw a breath of any kind, and at once rallied her forces.

"Yes, Celine, I wanted you to do something for me, if you will."

"Anything, madame."

Madame was collecting her thoughts. "I--I wanted to ask if you could find time to come to my room and try and do something with my hair.

Your hair-dressing is perfect, and I am so tired of my own."

Celine would be only too happy. Should she come now? She had just returned from the village; she would put off her hat and be at madame's disposal. But madame was not inclined to be manipulated just then. Celine might come to her dressing room and do her hair for dinner--after she was done with Miss Arthur, of course.

So they separated, mutually satisfied.

CHAPTER XXIV.

A VERITABLE GHOST.

What a day of glory it had been to the spinster, this day on which Madeline had read her three letters, and Cora had explored the shut-up wing.

And what a day of torture to fastidious Edward Percy, who would have welcomed any third presence, even Cora or John Arthur--any one, anything, was better than that long slavery at the feet of a painted and too-visibly ancient mistress. But even the longest days have an end. At last he was set at liberty, and he hurried back to the little inn, literally kicking his way through the Autumn darkness.

The old house of Oakley stood, with its last light extinguished, tall and somber, against a back-ground of black sky and blacker trees. At last every soul under its roof was asleep--all but one. That one was very wide awake and intent on mischief.

Love-making, dear reader, although you may not know it, is a wearisome business, even if ever so agreeable. Especially is it wearisome to those like Miss Arthur--maidens whose waists are too tight, whose complexions will ill-endure lip service, and whose tresses are liable to become not only dishevelled but dislocated. Therefore, when Miss Arthur had dismissed her lover, with a sigh of regret, she lost no time in doffing her glories with a sigh of relief.

Even a very rich and hearty luncheon, which her maid had provided, was gormandized rather than enjoyed, so tempting did her couch look to the worn-out damsel.

Miss Arthur had refreshed herself with an hour's uninterrupted repose, and was revelling in a dreamy Arcadia, hand in hand with her beloved, when something cold falling on her cheek dispelled her visions. She started broad awake, and face to face with a horrible reality.

The moon was pouring a flood of silvery light in through the two windows, facing the south, whose curtains were drawn back, making the room almost as light as at mid-day.

And there, near her bed, almost within reach of her hand, stood _Madeline Payne_, all swathed in white clinging cerements, ghastly as a corpse, hollow-eyed and awful, but, nevertheless, Madeline Payne!

Over her white temples dropped rings of curly, yellow hair, and across the pale lips a mocking smile was flitting.

Miss Arthur gasped and closed her eyes very tight, but they would not stay closed. They flew open again to behold the vision still there.

The spinster was transfixed with horror. Cold drops of perspiration oozed out upon her forehead and trickled down her nose. She clutched at the bedclothes convulsively, and gazed and gazed.

Wider and wider stared her eyes, but no sound escaped her lips. She gazed and gazed, but the specter would not vanish. Poor Miss Arthur was terror-stricken almost to the verge of catalepsy.

In consideration of the persistence with which they return again and again, according to good authority, ghosts in general must be endowed with much patience. Be this as it may of the average ghost, certain it is that this particular apparition, after glaring immovably at the spinster for the space of five minutes, began to find it monotonous.

Slowly, slowly from among the snowy drapery came forth a white hand, that pointed at the occupant of the bed with silent menace.

[Illustration: "Near the bed, almost within reach of her hand, stood _Madeline Payne_, all swathed in white!"--page 252.]

The spell was broken. The lips of Miss Arthur were unclosed, and shrieks, one following the other in rapid succession, resounded in the ears of even the most remote sleepers.

With the utterance of her first yell, Miss Arthur had made a desperate plunge to the further side of her bed, away from the specter; and, turning her face to the wall, shut out thus the appalling white vision.

Having once found her voice, Miss Arthur continued to clutch at the bed clothes, glare at the wall, and shriek spasmodically, even after her "inner consciousness" must have assured her that the room now held others beside herself and the ghost, supposing it to be still on the opposite side of the bed.

Cora, in a state of wild _deshabille_; John Arthur, ditto, and armed with a cane; Susan and Mary, half in the room and half out; then Celine Leroque, apparently much frightened, without knowing at what.

A volley of questions from the master of the house, and a return of courage to the mistress. But Miss Arthur only gathered herself together, took in a fresh supply of breath, and embarked in another series of howls.

Nothing was amiss in the room; it could not have been a burglar. The night lamp was burning dimly behind its heavy shade; on the table were the fragments of Miss Arthur's lunch; and Mr. and Mrs. Arthur had found easy access through the closed, but unbolted door.

After a time, a long time, during which Cora and Celine administered sal volatile and other restoratives, Mr. Arthur douched her with oaths and ice water, and the servants whispered in a group, the maiden found voice.

It was a very feeble voice, and it conveyed to her audience the astounding intelligence that she had seen a ghost--Madeline Payne's ghost.

Upon hearing her story, John Arthur seemed at first a little startled.

But Cora only laughed, and Celine, glancing significantly at the lunch table, said, with a slight smile:

"Mademoiselle has nerves, and she may have lunched heartily before retiring."

John Arthur strode across the room and viewed the _debris_ of luncheon. "Humph!" he grunted. "Oysters and salads, potted meat and pastry; strong coffee and lemon syllabub with brandy. Good Lord, I don't know what should have kept the contents of an entire cemetery from sweeping down upon your slumbers, you female gourmand. Ghosts indeed!"

And he stamped out of the room in high dudgeon. His tirade was wholly lost upon his sister, however, for that lady was whimpering comfortably and putting all her feeble energy into the effort.