Bernardine was about to turn away with a few words of apology, but the housekeeper laid a detaining hand on her arm. "Do not say that you found your way into this apartment, Miss Moore," she said, "or it might cause me considerable trouble. This is the only room in the house that is opened but once a year, and only then to air it. "This is young master's room," went on the housekeeper, confidentially, "and when he left home, after quite a bitter scene with his mother, the key was turned in the lock, and we were all forbidden to open it. That is young master's portrait, and an excellent likeness it is of him, too. "The whole house was recently thrown into consternation by a letter being received from him, saying that he was about to bring home his bride. His mother and sister took his marriage very much to heart. The bride is beautiful, we hear; but, as is quite natural, I suppose his mother thinks a queen on her throne would have been none too good for her handsome son. "My lady has had very little to say since learning that he would be here on the 20th--that is to-morrow night; and his sister, Miss Margaret, is equally as silent. "I think it will be better to give you another room than the one I had at first intended," said Mrs. King. "Please follow me, and I will conduct you to it." Bernardine complied, though the desire was strong upon her to fly precipitately from the house, and out into the darkness of the night---anywhere--anywhere, so that she might escape meeting Jay Gardiner and his bride. Up several flights of carpeted polished stairs, through draughty passages, along a broad corridor, down another passage, then into a huge, gloomy room, Bernardine followed her, a war of conflicting emotions surging through her heart at every step. "You have plenty of room, you see," said the housekeeper, lighting the one gas-jet the apartment contained. "Plenty!" echoed Bernardine, aghast, glancing about her in dismay at the huge, dark, four-poster bed in a far-off corner, the dark dresser, which seemed to melt into the shadows, and the three darkly outlined windows, with their heavy draperies closely drawn, that frowned down upon her. "You must not be frightened if you hear odd noises in the night. It's only mice. This is the old part of the mansion," said the housekeeper, turning to go. "Am I near any one else?" asked Bernardine, her heart sinking with a strange foreboding which she could not shake off. "Not very near," answered the housekeeper. "Would no one hear me if I screamed?" whispered Bernardine, drawing closer to her companion, as though she would detain her, her frightened eyes burning like two great coals of fire. "I hope you will not make the experiment, Miss Moore," returned the housekeeper, impatiently. "Good-night," and with that she is gone, and Bernardine is left--alone. The girl stands quite still where the housekeeper has left her long after the echo of her footsteps has died away.