“No, honey, not de ghost’s! Don’t be afeard—dere’s no ghost. In de _angel’s_ clothes, more like.” “What_ever_ do you mean, Pony?” “I daren’t say no more’n dis, honey—what I said afore—as dese things, dese lovely rooms and lovely raiments, was never prepared for _you_, _nor for no mortal lady_, dough you has got dem now! So, my honey, don’t ax me no more questions, ’cause you wouldn’t have me ’tray my mist’ess’ trust, would you?” seriously inquired Pony. “Oh, no, no, no!” earnestly exclaimed Em., who had not considered the subject in that light before. “Well, den, honey, don’t ax me no more questions on dat subject, ’cause talking is my weakness, anyhow; but, come, now and dress yerself pretty as a fairy, to go down and sit wid my mist’ess.” Em. looked over her simple and elegant wardrobe and selected a costume of embroidered white India muslin, lightly trimmed with pale blue ribbons. When she was ready she followed Pony down to the presence of her mistress, whom she found in a little boudoir connected with the long saloon on one end and a small, elegant dining-room on the other. The lady had changed her own dress, and wore a silver-gray silk with point lace falls, and no jewelry. “We dine early here, my dear girl,” said Mrs. Lynn as she touched the bell. No one answered it, for the signal at that hour was understood, and in about five minutes dinner was announced. No more need be said of this than that it was a dainty little dinner for two, elegantly served in the small but sumptuous dining-room. After dinner Mrs. Lynn took Emolyn into the library, where they spent a few pleasant hours seated in luxurious chairs at a table covered with books of engravings after the old masters. When tired of this amusement at the lady’s suggestion they drew their chairs to the fire and fell into a confidential chat. The lady drew Em. out to speak of her childhood, of Laundry Lane, of her journey to the mountains, and of her first impressions of the new home. In the course of her narrative Em. spoke of the radiant vision she had seen in the moonlit hall on the first night of her stay at the old manor-house. “Life is full of mysteries,” muttered the lady thoughtfully—then, seeing Em. watching breathlessly, she added—“But your vision was probably a dream, inspired by the stories you had heard about the so-called ‘haunted hall.’” “But I never heard any stories, dear lady. To be sure, old ’Sias, the gatekeeper, startled mother by hinting that no one who knew the house could be induced to go into it. But he absolutely refused to explain his words, so we heard no story,” said Em. “What? Why should you have dreamed of the bride’s ghost if you never had heard the story?” “Dear lady, I did not dream. I _saw_ the radiant spirit.” “You think you did, my dear, at all events, and it is very strange that your dream should have corresponded so well with the legend you never heard.”