“I saw it from my window.—I couldn’t sleep. I got up and looked out—I don’t know why—and I saw it! I saw it!” The words were followed by a long cry of terror. “Come and show it to me,” said Hugh, wanting to make light of it. “No, no, Mr. Sutherland—please not. I couldn’t go back into that room.” “Very well, dear Harry; you shan’t go back. You shall sleep with me, to-night.” “Oh! thank you, thank you, dear Mr. Sutherland. You will love me again, won’t you?” This touched Hugh’s heart. He could hardly refrain from tears. His old love, buried before it was dead, revived. He clasped the boy to his heart, and carried him to his own bed; then, to comfort him, undressed and lay down beside him, without even going to look if he too might not see the ghost. She had brought about one good thing at least that night; though, I fear, she had no merit in it. Lady Emily’s room likewise looked out upon the Ghost’s Walk. Margaret heard the cry as she sat by the sleeping Emily; and, not knowing whence it came, went, naturally enough, in her perplexity, to the window. From it she could see distinctly, for it was clear moonlight: a white figure went gliding away along the deserted avenue. She immediately guessed what the cry had meant; but as she had heard a door bang directly after (as Harry shut his behind him with a terrified instinct, to keep the awful window in), she was not very uneasy about him. She felt besides that she must remain where she was, according to her promise to Lady Emily. But she resolved to be prepared for the possible recurrence of the same event, and accordingly revolved it in her mind. She was sure that any report of it coming to Lady Emily’s ears, would greatly impede her recovery; for she instinctively felt that her illness had something to do with the questionable occupations in the library. She watched by her bedside all the night, slumbering at times, but roused in a moment by any restlessness of the patient; when she found that, simply by laying her hand on hers, or kissing her forehead, she could restore her at once to quiet sleep. CHAPTER XIX. THE GHOST’S WALK. Thierry.—‘Tis full of fearful shadows. Ordella.— So is sleep, sir; Or anything that’s merely ours, and mortal; We were begotten gods else. But those fears Feeling but once the fires of nobler thoughts, Fly, like the shapes of clouds we form, to nothing. BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.—Thierry and Theodoret. Margaret sat watching the waking of Lady Emily. Knowing how much the first thought colours the feeling of the whole day, she wished that Lady Emily should at once be aware that she was by her side.