And then the door opened as Reginald ended the delightful old song, and surely on the threshold stood my Lady Bell as she appeared at Ranelagh, in powdered hair, in shimmer of gold brocade, with wide hoops and patches on her arch-looking face, with dainty red-heeled shoes and skilfully manipulated fan. It was surely Lady Bell that stepped so stately into the room in the red glare of the fire to the melodious clearness of the gavotte played by Cecilia, who, being whispered to by Reginald, at once seized the spirit of the jest. Or perchance one of the old Garsworth dames had stepped down from her gilt frame, and, attracted by the familiar tinkle of the spinet, come to look at what gay company were assembled in the oak parlour; but no, it was to their eyes Lady Bell, fair and dainty as of old, who swept into the firelight with tapping of high heels and sweep of stiff brocade. "We must have lights to see this," cried Dick, jumping up from his chair. "No, no, I protest!" said Beaumont, lifting up his hand. "It will spoil all. This is not Miss Challoner, but Lady Bell--a ghost from the days of powder and patches come to visit us. She moves in mysterious shadows--a light will cause her to melt away." "I'm too substantial for that, I'm afraid," laughed Una, waving her fan. "But isn't this a charming dress? I found it the other day, and thought I would give you all a fright." "I don't think you could give any one a fright," whispered Reginald, whereupon she flashed a saucy look at him out of the shadows. The sweet, clear music was still stealing through the room, and Beaumont, in his low, languid voice, talked idly. "Lady Bell, I admire you vastly. How have you left London and the modish company at Soho? Surely no highwayman stayed you on the way hither in your coach and six? And what of my Lord Mohun? Is there any news at Will's coffee-house, and do the belles admire the new opera of Mr. Handel? Come, tell us the news."' "I would need to be a gazette to do so." "And you are not--only a fair dead woman from the perished past, come to show us what wit and beauty went out with powder and patches. Ah, my dear Lady Bell----" At this moment he was interrupted, for a wild shriek rang through the house, and all present sprang to their feet, looking at one another in wild surmise. CHAPTER XXIII. THE END OF ALL THINGS. We may have died in being born to earth Perchance our dying is another birth. The shriek was uttered by Patience Allerby, and when the whole party, recovering from their surprise, went upstairs they found her leaning against the door of the squire's room, with pale face and terrified-looking eyes. Beyond, half seen in the dim candlelight which illuminated the room, lay a dark shapeless object on the floor.