‘Because you must think me a fool if you like, but I am; and the stories your servants have told me have made me quite nervous of remaining at the castle.’ ‘A good excuse to leave me and go back to Mudlianah,’ thinks Mrs Dunstan; and then she draws herself up stiffly, and says, ‘Indeed! You must be very credulous if you believe what natives say. What may these dreadful stories consist of?’ ‘Oh! I daresay you will turn them into ridicule, because, perhaps, you don’t believe in ghosts.’ ‘Ghosts! I should think not, indeed. Who does?’ ‘I do, Mrs Dunstan, and for the good reason that I have seen more than one.’ ‘You have seen a spirit? What will you tell me next?’ ‘That I hope you never may, for it is not a pleasant sight. But that has nothing to do with the present rumours. I find that your servants are really frightened of remaining at the castle. They say there is not a native in the villages round about who would enter it for love or money, and that the reason the Rajah Mati Singh has deserted it is on account of its reputation for being haunted.’ ‘Every one has heard of that,’ replies Ethel, with a heightened colour, ‘but no one believes it. Who should it be haunted by?’ ‘You know what a bad character the rajah bears for cruelty and oppression. They say he built this castle for a harem, and kidnapped a beautiful English woman, a soldier’s daughter, and confined her here for some years. But, finding one day that she had been attempting to communicate with her own people, he had her most barbarously put to death, with her child and the servants he suspected of conniving with her. Then he established a native harem here, but was obliged to remove it, for no infant born in the house ever lived. They say that as soon as a child is born under this roof, the spirit of the white woman appears to carry it away in place of her own. But the natives declare that she is not satisfied with the souls of black children, and that she will continue to appear until she has secured a white child like the one that was murdered before her eyes. And your servants assure me that she has been seen by several of them since coming here, and they feel certain that she is waiting for your baby to be born that she may carry it away.’ ‘What folly!’ cries Mrs Dunstan, whose cheeks have nevertheless grown very red. ‘It’s all a _ruse_ in order to make me go home again. In the first place, I should be ashamed to believe in such nonsense, and in the second, I do not expect my baby to be born until I am back in Mudlianah.’ ‘But accidents happen some times, you know, dear Mrs Dunstan, and it would be a terrible thing if you were taken ill up here. Don’t you think, all things considered, it would be more prudent for you to go home again?’ ‘No, I do not,’ replied Mrs Dunstan, decidedly. ‘I came here for my child’s health, and I shall stay until it is re-established.’ ‘But you must feel so lonely by yourself.’