Hetty followed, heavy-eyed and heavy-hearted, her mind oppressed with the secret, which was a burden almost beyond her power of supporting. Should she tell Miss Hofland? she kept asking herself. Should she ask Mrs. Mills? And oh! what was it? it was no thief watching the house, of that Hetty was sure. The fantastic movements of the figure among those flower-beds came up before her eyes a hundred times, and made her almost cry out with terror. She remembered the very poise of the figure, light, with a little swing in the step. Could that be a ghost that moved in such a human way, not gliding, not mystical, as ghosts are described as being? Her head turned round as again and again the moonlight scene rose before her. It seemed impossible to get it out of her eyes. She closed them, to rest her hot strained eyeballs, and lo, there it was before her in those wonderful contrasts of black and white, so clear, so clear! the broad stretch of wistful silvery mist and distance behind, the black solid line of the moving object, the tall flowers drooping their heads, the trees gathering like spectators on every side. The hum of the voices near her was to Hetty’s ears like a monotonous murmur without meaning. When it came to her turn to read or answer a question, she raised a white face without intelligence to the governess. “My dear, you have not been attending,” Miss Hofland cried, astonished; but this by degrees changed into, “My dear, you must be ill. Is your head bad? have you caught cold? What is the matter?” Miss Hofland was very philosophical on her own account, but to the young people under her charge she was kind, and it was understood in her code of laws that a headache was always to be respected, being in some sort a girl’s only refuge in heartache and all other ills. “I feel dreadfully stupid,” said Hetty, not knowing how to excuse herself. “It is your head that is bad. You will be better if you will go and lie down,” said Miss Hofland; but this was a remedy that made Hetty shiver. Lie down with her face towards the window from which she had seen that sight, or, worse still, turning her back to it, so that the figure might be performing any kind of wild gyration behind her! This made the throbbing in her head and the fluttering at her heart worse than ever. “Oh no!” she cried, “I don’t want to lie down; let me stay here--oh! let me stay with you. It is so much nicer to be with you.” “Then lie down on the sofa,” said the governess, “and try to go to sleep. Poor little thing! how you are trembling, your nerves are all wrong. That’s what it is to have a _nuit blanche_ when one is young.”