‘Rose, this is Miss Bygrave,’ said her guardian; and at his word she rose and moved slowly across the polished floor to meet me, still surveying me calmly and coolly with her large blue eyes, as if anxious to arrive at a correct estimate of my character and qualifications. She was tall and womanly in figure, but wore her long golden hair in a cloud over her neck and shoulders, merely confined by a ribbon, as a child’s might have been. Though a beautiful girl, she appeared unconscious of the fact. Her regular clear-cut features were expressive of self-reliance and determination, without being in the least harsh or unfeminine. Her manner was perfectly self-possessed, and her bearing slightly haughty; but it was not long before I discovered that underneath that appearance of womanly dignity there was the simplicity and waywardness of a very child. ‘How do you do, Miss Bygrave?’ she said somewhat coldly, giving me her hand, and scanning my face with a deliberation which I should have resented from any one else, but to which I now submitted humbly, as if it had been the right of the proud young beauty who stood before me. Then as if the result of her scrutiny were satisfactory, she added more graciously: ‘I daresay you are tired with your long drive; come, and I will shew you to your room.’ I followed her up the wide staircase and along a corridor to a room overlooking the extensive garden which lay at the back of the house. I was much pleased with the appearance of my bedroom. From what I had seen down-stairs I was prepared for an oaken chamber hung with tapestry, with gloomy recesses, hearse-like bed, and ancient furniture. Nothing of the kind, however, met my view. Here everything was modern, and even luxurious, and in such style as would have suited the most fastidious taste. ‘I hope you will be comfortable here,’ said Miss Sinclair. ‘It will be my own fault if I am not,’ I replied, as I advanced to the window opening on to a small veranda, from which steps led down into the garden. ‘How pretty the garden looks!’ I remarked. ‘I shall often feel inclined to walk there, I fancy.’ ‘You must not think of going there after sunset,’ said Miss Sinclair decidedly. ‘Why not?’ I asked in surprise. ‘Because—— Well, perhaps I ought not to mention it, for my guardian does not like it talked about; and yet you would be sure to hear of it some time or other, so I may as well tell you at once. The truth is the house is haunted; not this part, but the left corridor, where the rooms are very, very old. And the ghost has been seen coming out of the window of the Blue Chamber—which communicates with the garden, as this does—and going down the steps.’ I was astonished at the gravity with which she made this statement. ‘You do not surely believe in ghosts, Miss Sinclair?’ I asked. ‘You cannot really credit such stories?’