“That can only be a nervous fancy, surely,” Hugh ventured to say. “Perhaps it is. I don’t know. But, still, without that, there are plenty of reasons for wishing to recover it. He will put it to a bad use, if he can. But for your sake, especially, I wish we could get it.” “Thank you. You were always kind.” “No,” she replied, without lifting her eyes; “I brought it all upon you.” “But you could not help it.” “Not at the moment. But all that led to it was my fault.” She paused; then suddenly resumed: “I will confess.—Do you know what gave rise to the reports of the house being haunted?” “No.” “It was me wandering about it at night, looking for that very ring, to give to the count. It was shameful. But I did. Those reports prevented me from being found out. But I hope not many ghosts are so miserable as I was.—You remember my speaking to you of Mr. Arnold’s jewels?” “Yes, perfectly.” “I wanted to find out, through you, where the ring was. But I had no intention of involving you.” “I am sure you had not.” “Don’t be too sure of anything about me. I don’t know what I might have been led to do. But I am very sorry. Do forgive me.” “I cannot allow that I have anything to forgive. But tell me, Euphra, were you the creature, in white that I saw in the Ghost’s Walk one night? I don’t mean the last time.” “Very likely,” she answered, bending her head yet lower, with a sigh. “Then who was the creature in black that met you? And what became of you then?” “Did you see her?” rejoined Euphra, turning paler still. “I fainted at sight of her. I took her for the nun that hangs in that horrid room.” “So did I,” said Hugh. “But you could not have lain long; for I went up to the spot where you vanished, and found nothing.” “I suppose I got into the shrubbery before I fell. Or the count dragged me in.—But was that really a ghost? I feel now as if it was a good messenger, whether ghost or not, come to warn me, if I had had the courage to listen. I wish I had taken the warning.” They talked about these and other things, till Mrs. Elton, who had made Hugh promise to stay to lunch, returned. When they were seated at table, the kind-hearted woman said: “Now, Mr. Sutherland, when will you begin again with Harry?” “I do not quite understand you,” answered Hugh. “Of course you will come and give him lessons, poor boy. He will be broken-hearted if you don’t.” “I wish I could. But I cannot—at least yet; for I know his father was dissatisfied with me. That was one of the reasons that made him send Harry to London.”