‘Just so,’ said Mr Close. ‘Well, that sword had been in the family for many years--I may say centuries. One day it disappeared, and there was a great outcry. A lackey had been discharged for some cause or other, and it was believed he had taken it. But before they found him, the sword was in its place upon the wall. Afterwards the man confessed that he had taken it, out of revenge, for he knew how it was prized. But in the middle of the next night, as he slept in a roadside inn, a figure dressed in ancient armour had entered the room, taken up the sword, and gone away with it. I dare say it was all nonsense. His heart had failed him when he found he was followed, and he had contrived by the help of some fellow-servant to restore it. But there are very queer stories about old weapons--swords in particular. I must go now,’ he concluded, ‘for we have company to-night, and I have a good many things to see to.’ So saying he left me. I remained a long time in the armoury, and then returned to the library, where I seated myself in the same corner as before, and went on with my reading--lost in pleasure. All at once I became aware that the light was thickening, and that I was very hungry. At the same moment I heard a slight rustle in the room, and looked round, expecting to see Mrs Wilson come to fetch me. But there stood Miss Clara--not now in white, however, but in a black silk frock. She had grown since I saw her last, and was prettier than ever. She started when she saw me. ‘You here!’ she exclaimed, as if we had known each other all our lives. ‘What are you doing here?’ ‘Reading,’ I answered, and rose from the floor, replacing the book as I rose. ‘I thought you were Mrs Wilson come to fetch me.’ ‘Is she coming here?’ ‘Yes. She told me not to leave the library till she came for me.’ ‘Then I must get out of the way.’ ‘Why so, Miss Clara?’ I asked. ‘I don’t mean her to know I am here. If you tell, I shall think you the meanest--’ ‘Don’t trouble yourself to find your punishment before you’ve found your crime,’ I said, thinking of my own processes of invention. What a little prig I must have been! ‘Very well, I will trust you,’ she returned, holding out her hand.--‘I didn’t give it you to keep, though,’ she added, finding that, with more of country manners than tenderness, I fear, I retained it in my boyish grasp. I felt awkward at once, and let it go. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Now, when do you expect Mrs. Wilson?’ ‘I don’t know at all. She said she would fetch me for dinner. There she comes, I do believe.’ Clara turned her head like a startled forest creature that wants to listen, but does not know in what direction, and moved her feet as if she were about to fly. ‘Come back after dinner,’ she said: ‘you had better!’ and darting to the other side of the room, lifted a piece of hanging tapestry, and vanished just in time, for Mrs Wilson’s first words crossed her last.