Constancy made Godfrey tell her all the story of the loss of Waynflete, of the traitor's ghost, and of the Guy who was too late, as they walked home round the paddock, and looked down over Flete Edge to the river Flete at the bottom of the valley. A rough, ill-grown plantation covered the steep descent, while scattered cottages were planted on the equally steep hill opposite to them. Guy studied it with silent interest, while Godfrey compared it unfavourably with the Ingleby valley, and scoffed at the legends which he was repeating. "Ghosts are all bosh," he said, with decision. "Well, there are some odd noises at Waynflete," said Constancy, as they reached the house. "Now, come and see a picture. It must be this wretched Guy who was too late." She took them upstairs to the extreme end of the wing of the house next the stables. Here, with windows looking out three ways, was a little octagon room, with polished oak floor, and scanty old-fashioned furniture. Over the chimney was the head of a handsome fair-faced youth, with the last rays of sun falling on his face. "I declare, Guy," said Godfrey, "he's uncommonly like you, especially about the eyes." "I dare say," said Guy, but the likeness annoyed him. "He looks very sad, poor fellow," said Florella, softly; while Constancy looked from one to the other, and thought, "I've got a lot of `study.'" Rooms had been assigned to the two boys at the other end of this same wing of the house, opening into each other, as was the way of rooms at Waynflete. Godfrey went to bed, thinking that he did not much like these old legends and old scandals; and as for ghosts, the idea was too ridiculous! Still, there were certainly an odd variety of nocturnal noises at Waynflete--scratch, tap--rats and mice? Then a low murmuring and sobbing--the wind? He stuck his candle in the open window, and the flame hardly stirred. There was an interval of silence, and he got into bed and fell asleep as he ran through in his mind all the causes of mysterious noises--distant trains, coughing sheep, scraping creepers, pecking pigeons, whistling wind, scratching mice, etc, etc. He was awakened by a violent clutch on his shoulder, and starting up saw, in the stream of moonlight from the window, his brother, half dressed and deadly pale, who fell on his knees beside him, hiding his face and grasping him so tightly that he was hardly able to move. "Guy--I say! Guy! Good Lord, what's the matter with you? Ill? Got the nightmare? I say--let go--I can't stir!" Guy loosened his hold after a moment or two, but he shook from head to foot, and Godfrey, tumbling out of the bed, pushed him up on to it, and stood staring at him as he lay with hidden face. "What the dickens is the matter with you? I say, Guy! Can't you speak?"