"I did not know it myself," I replied. "I often think of the Finster ghost quite calmly, even in the middle of the night. But just then, Miss Larpent, do you know, I really _felt_ that horrid cold again!" "So did I--or rather my imagination did," she replied, trying to talk in a matter-of-fact way. She got up as she spoke, and went to the window. "It can't be _all_ imagination," she added. "See, Leila, what a gusty, stormy day it is--not like the beginning of August. It really is cold." "And this play-room seems nearly as draughty as the gallery at Finster," I said. "Don't let us stay here--come into the drawing-room and play some duets. I wish we could quite forget about Finster." "Dormy has done so, I hope," said Miss Larpent. That chilly morning was the commencement of the real break-up in the weather. We women would not have minded it so much, as there are always plenty of indoor things we can find to do. And my two grown-up brothers were away. Raxtrew held no particular attractions for them, and Phil wanted to see some of our numerous relations before he returned to India. So he and Nugent started on a round of visits. But, unluckily, it was the beginning of the public school holidays, and poor Nat--the fifteen-year-old boy--had just joined us. It was very disappointing for him in more ways than one. He had set his heart on seeing Finster, impressed by our enthusiastic description of it when we first went there, and now his anticipations had to come down to a comparatively tame and uninteresting village, and every probability--so said the wise--of a stretch of rainy, unsummerlike weather. Nat is a good-natured, cheery fellow, however--not nearly as clever or as impressionable as Dormy, but with the same common sense. So he wisely determined to make the best of things, and as we were really sorry for him, he did not, after all, come off very badly. His principal amusement was roller-skating in the play-room. Dormy had not taken to it in the same way--the greater part of _his_ time was spent with the rabbits and guinea-pigs, where Nat, when he himself had had skating enough, was pretty sure to find him. I suppose it is with being the eldest sister that it always seems my fate to receive the confidences of the rest of the family, and it was about this time, a fortnight or so after his arrival, that it began to strike me that Nat looked as if he had something on his mind. "He is sure to tell me what it is, sooner or later," I said to myself. "Probably he has left some small debts behind him at school--only he did not look worried or anxious when he first came home." The confidence was given. One afternoon Nat followed me into the library, where I was going to write some letters, and said he wanted to speak to me. I put my paper aside and waited. "Leila," he began, "you must promise not to laugh at me." This was not what I expected.