"But where is the ghost? I want to see the ghost!" cried the girl, tossing aside the last bit of tarnished finery. "What is this?" she continued, seizing the end of a beam which had become loosened and projected from the wall. "You will have the house about our ears if you persist," he cried, as a shower of crumbled stone and mortar followed her investigation. "Well, it is my house, Lord Brompton; I have the right if I choose to." "Why remind me of my misfortunes, Miss Windsor?" "Come and help me, then." "I wish I might be your helpmate forever," he said. She turned and looked at him, slightly disconcerted, and then said: "I was wrong. The women of to-day need no help from any one." She gave the beam a strong wrench, as though to vindicate her assertion. It yielded and disclosed a kind of box or recess set into the wall. She plunged therein her hand, and drew forth a handsome sword of rich and subtle workmanship and antique design. "There," she cried, "am I not right?" Maggie took it to the light. Around the hilt was wrapped a scroll, which she was about to read, when, with a sudden fancy, she paused and said, "What am I doing? These are family secrets, and meant, perhaps, only for your eyes, Lord Brompton." "Read it, I beg," said he. She obeyed him. In a faint, feminine hand, which resembled a field of corn bowed by the wind, were written these words: "My grandfather's sword. MARIAN RIPON." "The ghost--it is the ghost's own work," they cried together. "And this sword," said he, "belonged to my namesake, the cavalier." "But look--look." Maggie had been staring at the opposite side of the paper. Geoffrey took it from her hand. "Kind hearts are more than coronets And simple faith than Norman blood." For a moment they looked at one another in speechless surprise. "Kneel, Lord Brompton," she said at length. He did so, and taking a scarf from among the pile of vestments she girded the sword about him with fantastic grace. "Rise, Geoffrey Ripon, knight, and Earl of Brompton." "You are forever my sovereign." He kissed her hand. She blushed sweetly, and turning said, "Enough of the past and its customs. We each have a present to face, and mine for the nonce is Jawkins. He must need my directions." Thus it happened that when Lord Brompton next entered the porter's lodge in which he dwelt, he was girded with the sword of his ancestors. CHAPTER IV. JARLEY JAWKINS.