"So _you_ know of it, Miss!" was her answer. "Yes; it is walking again: and I'm veering round to their way of thought. Mrs. Hill has locked up the turret, so that lookout is barred to us." She pulled open the door with a jerk, and departed. The draught of air blew out my frail wax taper, and I went to the window: Lizzy had left the curtains and shutters open. I had no fear; it never occurred to me that there could be anything to see. But superstition is catching, and—what did my eyes rest upon? In the old spot, hovering about the entrance to the pine-walk, was a man's shadowy figure; the one I had been told to believe was looked upon as the ghost of Sir Thomas Chandos. These things can be laughed at in the open day in the broad sunshine. We are ready then to brave ghosts, to acknowledge them to be myths of the fancy, as indisputably as we know the bogies of children to be puppets dressed up to frighten them; but all alone in the darkness the case is different. I was by myself on that vast floor; Lizzy Dene had gone down, the wing-doors were shut, silence reigned. Once more terror got the better of me, the pacing figure was all too shadowy, and downstairs I flew, crossed the lighted hall, and burst into the oak-parlour to Mr. Chandos. "Have you been waiting to re-write the letter?" he asked, "oblivious that your tea stood here, getting cold!" I could make no answer just yet, but sank into my seat with a white face. "You look as though you had seen a ghost," he jestingly said. And then I burst into tears, just for a moment; the effect no doubt of nervous excitement. Mr. Chandos rose at once, his manner changing to one of tender kindness. "Has anything alarmed you?" "I cannot find Madame de Mellissie's letter," was all I answered, feeling vexed with myself. "But that is not the cause of _this_. Something has frightened you. Come, Miss Hereford; I must know what it is," he concluded, with that quiet command of manner so few resist. I did not: perhaps did not care to: and told him briefly what had occurred. Not mentioning suspicions of Lizzy Dene or what she said; but simply that the woman had opened the door too hastily, thereby putting my candle out—and then on to what I had seen. "It must have been one of the gardeners," he quietly observed. "Why should that have alarmed you?" That the gardeners never remained in the gardens after twilight, obeying the strict orders of the house, I knew. "Not a gardener," I answered, "but a ghost." And, taking courage, I told him all I had heard—that a ghost was said to walk nightly in the grounds. "Whose ghost?" he asked, with angry sharpness. "Your late father's, sir; Sir Thomas Chandos." He turned quickly to the mantelpiece, put his elbow on it, and stood there with his back to me. But that his face had looked so troubled, I might have thought he did it to indulge in a quiet laugh. "Miss Hereford, you cannot seriously believe in such nonsense!"