"At any rate, sir, I saw you in one. A short one, a sort of cape. I saw your face quite plainly when you were looking up at the windows. The moon was as bright as day, and shining full upon you." "It must decidedly have been my ghost, Miss Hereford." "No, sir; it was yourself. I don't believe in ghosts. When you had finished your dance in and out of the trees, you crossed the grass to the laurel walk that leads down by the west wing." "What do you say?" The tone was an abrupt one; the manner had entirely changed: something like a glance of fear shot across the face of Mr. Chandos. But at that moment Hill came in. "So you are back, Hill!" he exclaimed. "I have been back an hour, sir. Mrs. Freeman's no worse, and I came by the Parliamentary train. And it is well I did come," added she, "for I found my lady ill!" Mr. Chandos swung himself short round on his heel. "My mother ill! what is the matter with her?" "Well, sir, I hardly know. I came to ask you to go up and see her." "She was very well last night," he observed, striding upstairs on his way to the west wing. "You had better begin breakfast, Miss," Hill said to me. "My lady won't be down; I'll go and order it in." "Am I to send any up to Lady Chandos, Hill?" "I have taken my lady's breakfast up," was her answer. The tea and coffee came in, and I waited; waited, and waited. When I had nearly given Mr. Chandos up, he came. His face was pale, troubled, and he appeared lost in inward thought. From the signs, I gathered that Lady Chandos's malady was serious. "I fear you have found Lady Chandos worse than you anticipated, sir?" "Yes—no—yes—not exactly," was the contradictory answer. "I hope it is nothing dangerous," he more collectedly added; "but she will not be able to leave her rooms to-day." "Is she in bed, sir?" "No; she is sitting up. My tea? thank you. You should not have waited for me, Miss Hereford." He took his breakfast in silence, ringing once for Hickens, to ask after a paper that ought to have come. Afterwards he quitted the room, and I saw him go strolling across to the Pine Walk. CHAPTER XV. IN THE IRONING-ROOM. "Will you allow me to repose a word of confidence in you, Miss Hereford, and at the same time to tender an apology?" Playing a little bit of quiet harmony, reading a little, musing a little, half an hour had passed, and I was leaning my back against the frame of the open window. Mr. Chandos had come across the grass unheard by me, and took me by surprise. I turned, and stammered forth "Yes." His tones were cautious and low, as though he feared eavesdroppers, though no one was within hearing; or could have been, without being seen.