She could bear this in the dark no longer; so she struck a match and lighted her candle. Then, as she was sitting up in bed listening to the footsteps, she heard them stop close to her door, and saw the handle of the door move; some one was turning it from the outside. For the moment she forgot that she had locked it; she screamed aloud; and, throwing her arms out of bed in her terror, upset the candle, and was left in darkness. "You may be sure there was no more sleep for me all night," said Betsy, when relating this to her fellow-servants the following morning. "But now--who could have been there? I heard the steps, and I heard the moans, and I saw the handle of the door turn: it's as true as that I am here to tell you." Such was the story she whispered. Her awe-struck listeners thought of Katherine Keen, but not one of them mentioned the name. Betsy slept alone, and they would not frighten her unnecessarily. Early in the day came tidings that the _Seamew_ was no longer to be seen. As predicted, the brig had gone to pieces during the gale. Ella shuddered when the news was told her: could it be that Hubert Stone was still on board? Several planks and some broken spars were washed ashore in the course of the following tide. The moment Ella had awakened that morning, the warning spoken by Hubert rang in her ears: "What you hold, you hold by fraud: a dozen words from me, and Heron Dyke would know you as its mistress no more." Surely, she reasoned, they could be the words of no other than a madman! Nevertheless, they haunted her. What--she could not help asking herself--what if they were true?--what then?--was there any hidden secret--any fraud connected with her succession to the property? She could not think it possible. Still, do what she might, she did not get them out of her mind. Last night, in the joy of her deliverance from a cruel death, and under the glad influence of Conroy's presence, she had thought but little of them; but this morning, when her mind was fresh and clear, they were branded on her memory as if with a red-hot iron. Nothing was seen of Hubert at the Hall that day, and Miss Winter made no inquiry respecting him. She thought it not unlikely, after what had passed between them, that he would have the grace to absent himself for a little time. Conroy had spoken of the keg of spirits and the horn drinking-cup he saw below--in fact, she had seen them herself; she felt little doubt that Hubert had imbibed some, which in a degree might account for his ill-behaviour, and that he was now ashamed of himself. It would be impossible to retain him as steward at the Hall, but Miss Winter could recommend him elsewhere. Meanwhile she did not intend to speak of what had passed, but to bury it in oblivion. It was not a pleasant thing in any way, either to speak or to think of.