“Saucy gypsy!” muttered Treherne. But Mrs. Snowdon said, with a smile of double meaning, “Many a true word is spoken in jest.” Chapter V UNDER THE MISTLETOE Unusually gay and charming the three young friends looked, dressed alike in fleecy white with holly wreaths in their hair, as they slowly descended the wide oaken stairway arm in arm. A footman was lighting the hall lamps, for the winter dusk gathered early, and the girls were merrily chatting about the evening's festivity when suddenly a loud, long shriek echoed through the hall. A heavy glass shade fell from the man's hand with a crash, and the young ladies clung to one another aghast, for mortal terror was in the cry, and a dead silence followed it. “What was it, John?” demanded Octavia, very pale, but steady in a moment. “I'll go and see, miss.” And the man hurried away. “Where did the dreadful scream come from?” asked Rose, collecting her wits as rapidly as possible. “Above us somewhere. Oh, let us go down among people; I am frightened to death,” whispered Blanche, trembling and faint. Hurrying into the parlor, they found only Annon and the major, both looking startled, and both staring out of the windows. “Did you hear it? What could it be? Don't go and leave us!” cried the girls in a breath, as they rushed in. The gentlemen had heard, couldn't explain the cry, and were quite ready to protect the pretty creatures who clustered about them like frightened fawns. John speedily appeared, looking rather wild, and as eager to tell his tale as they to listen. “It's Patty, one of the maids, miss, in a fit. She went up to the north gallery to see that the fires was right, for it takes a power of wood to warm the gallery even enough for dancing, as you know, miss. Well, it was dark, for the fires was low and her candle went out as she whisked open the door, being flurried, as the maids always is when they go in there. Halfway down the gallery she says she heard a rustling, and stopped. She's the pluckiest of 'em all, and she called out, 'I see you!' thinking it was some of us trying to fright her. Nothing answered, and she went on a bit, when suddenly the fire flared up one flash, and there right before her was the ghost.” “Don't be foolish, John. Tell us what it was,” said Octavia sharply, though her face whitened and her heart sank as the last word passed the man's lips. “It was a tall, black figger, miss, with a dead-white face and a black hood. She see it plain, and turned to go away, but she hadn't gone a dozen steps when there it was again before her, the same tall, dark thing with the dead-white face looking out from the black hood. It lifted its arm as if to hold her, but she gave a spring and dreadful screech, and ran to Mrs. Benson's room, where she dropped in a fit.” “How absurd to be frightened by the shadows of the figures in armor that stand along the gallery!” said Rose, boldly enough, though she would have declined entering the gallery without a light.