"I cannot divest myself of the notion that I have met you before, Mrs. Penn," I said. "But I am unable to recollect where." "I can tell you," she answered. "You were at school at Nulle, and attended the English Protestant Church. It was there you and I used to see each other." "There?" I repeated, incredulously, thinking she must be wrong. "Yes, there," said Mrs. Penn. "I was staying in the town for some weeks two or three years ago; I remembered your face again here directly, though you have grown much. You were wont to study my face nearly as much as you studied your prayer-book. I used to wonder what you found in me to admire." Throw my recollection back as I would, I could not connect the face before me with my associations of Nulle. It certainly might have been there that we met—and indeed why should she say so, were it not?—but it did not seem to be. As to the looking off the prayer-book part, I was sure that there could not have been much of that, the English governess who succeeded Miss Johnstone always watched us so sharply. "Did you know the Miss Barlieus, Mrs. Penn?" "Only by sight; I had no acquaintance with them. Quite old maids they are." "They are kind, good women," I broke out, indignantly, and Mrs. Penn laughed. "Somewhat careless withal, are they not? I think that was exemplified in the matter relating to Miss Chandos." I could not answer. The whole blame had lain with Emily, but I did not choose to say that to Mrs. Penn. She was turning her gold chain round and round her finger, her very light blue eyes seemingly fixed on the opposite pine-trees, and then she spoke again her voice had dropped to a low tone. "Do you believe in ghosts, Miss Hereford?" "Ghosts?" I echoed, astonished at the question. "Ghosts," she repeated. "Do you believe that the dead come again?" "When I see any ghosts I will tell you whether I believe in them or not," I said, jokingly. "Up to the present time it has not been my good fortune to fall in with any." "It is said," she proceeded, looking round with caution, "that a ghost haunts Chandos. Have you not seen any strange sights?" "No, indeed. It would very much astonish me to see such—if by 'strange sights' you mean ghosts." "I saw one once," she said. "Mrs. Penn!" "A lady died in a house where I was staying; died almost suddenly. If ever I saw anything in my life, I saw her after she was in her grave. You look at me with incredulity." "I cannot fancy that a real genuine ghost was ever seen. I am aware that strange tales are told—and believed: but I think they are but tales of the imagination." "In speaking of strange tales do you allude to Chandos?" "Certainly not. I spoke of the world in general." "You take me up sharply. Nevertheless, strange tales are whispered of Chandos. On a moonlight night, as report runs, the spirit of Sir Thomas may be seen in the walks." "Does it swim over from India to take its promenade?" I mockingly asked.