_ CHAPTER V. SEEING A GHOST
Three days after the departure of Grace's brother, Captain Danton returned to the Hall. Strange to say, the young Doctor had been missed in these three days by the four Misses Danton. Even the stately Kate, who would have gone to the block sooner than have owned it, missed his genial presence, his pleasant laugh, and ever interesting conversation; Rose missed her flirtee, and gaped wearily the slow hours away that had flown coquetting with him; Eeny missed the pocketfuls of chocolate, bon-bons, and the story books new from Montreal; and Grace missed him most of all. But Eeny was the only one honest enough to own it, and she declared the house was as lonely as a dungeon since Doctor Frank had gone away.
"One would think you had fallen in love with him, Eeny," said Rose.
"No," retorted Eeny; "I leave that for you. But he was nice; I liked him, and I wish he would come back. Don't you, Kate?"
"I don't care, particularly," said Kate. "I wish papa would come."
"And bring that unknown friend of yours. I say, Kate," said Rose mischievously, "they say you're engaged--perhaps it's your fiancé."
Up over Kate's pearly face the hot blood flew, and she turned hastily to the nearest window.
"Too late, ma soeur," said Rose, her eyes dancing. "You blush beautifully. Won't I have a look at him when he comes, the conquering hero, who can win our queenly Kate's heart."
"Rose, hush!" cried Kate, yet not displeased, and with that roseate light in her face still.
Rose came over, and put her arm around her waist coaxingly.
"Tell me about him, Kate. Is he handsome?"
"Who? Reginald? Of course he is handsome."
"I want to see him dreadfully! Have you his picture? Won't you show it me?"
There was a slender gold chain round Kate's neck, which she wore night and day. A locket was attached, and her hand pressed it now, but she did not take it out.
"Some other time, my pet," she said, kissing Rose. "Come, let us go for a ride."
Rose was an accomplished horsewoman, and never looked so well as in a side-saddle. She owned a spirited black mare, which she called Regina, and she had ridden out every day with Doctor Frank while that gentleman was in St. Croix. Kate rode well, too. A fleet-footed little pony, named Arab, had been trained for her use, and the sisters galloped over the country together daily.
Eeny and Grace, both mortally afraid of horse-flesh, never rode.
Between music, books, and riding, the three days' interval passed pleasantly enough.
Rose was an inveterate novel reader, and the hours Kate spent shut up with that unfathomable mystery, Mr. Richards, her younger sister passed absorbed in the last new novel.
They had visitors too--the Ponsonbys, the Landrys, the Le Favres, and everybody of note in the neighbourhood called. Father Francis, M. le Curé, the Reverend Augustus Clare, the Episcopal incumbent of St. Croix, an aristocratic young Englishman, came to see them in the evening to hear Miss Danton sing, and to play backgammon.
The Reverend Augustus, who was slim, and fair, and had face and hands like a pretty girl, was very much impressed with the majestic daughter of Captain Danton, who sang so magnificently, and looked at him with eyes like blue stars.
The day that brought her father home had been long and dull. There had been no callers, and they had not gone out. A cold north wind had shrieked around the house all day, rattling the windows, and tearing frantically through the gaunt arms of the stripped trees. The sky was like lead, the river black and turbid. As the afternoon wore on, great flakes of snow came fluttering through the opaque air, slowly at first, then faster, till all was blind, fluttering whiteness, and the black earth was hidden.
Kate stood by the dining-room window watching the fast-falling snow. It had been a long day to her--a long, weary, aimless day. She had tried to read, to play, to sing, to work; and failed in all. She had visited Mr. Richards; she had wandered, in a lost sort of way, from room to room; she had lain listlessly on sofas, and tried to sleep, all in vain. The demon of ennui had taken possession of her; and now, at the end of every resource, she stood looking drearily out at the wintry scene. She was dressed for the evening, and looked like a picture, buttoned up in that black velvet jacket, its rich darkness such a foil to her fair face and shining golden hair. Grace was her only companion--Grace sitting serenely braiding an apron for herself, Rose was fathoms deep in "Les Miserables," and Eeny was drumming on the piano in the drawing-room. There had been a long silence, but presently Grace looked up from her work, and spoke.
"This wintry scene is new to you, Miss Danton. You don't have such wild snow storms in England?"
Kate glanced round, a little surprised.
It was very rarely indeed her father's housekeeper voluntarily addressed her.
"No," she said, "not like this; but I like it. We ought to have sleighing to-morrow, if it continues."
"Probably. We do not often have sleighing, though, in November."
There was another pause.
Kate yawned behind her white hand.
"I wish Father Francis would come up," she said wearily. "He is the only person in St. Croix worth talking to."
The dark, short November afternoon was deepening with snowy night, when through the ghostly twilight the buggy from the station whirled up to the door, and two gentlemen alighted. Great-coats, with upturned collars, and hats pulled down, disguised both, but Kate recognized her father, the taller and stouter, with a cry of delight.
"Papa!" she exclaimed; and ran out of the room to meet him. He was just entering, his jovial laugh ringing through the house as he shook the snow off, and caught her in his wet arms.
"Glad to be home again, Kate! You don't mind a cold kiss, do you? Let me present an old friend whom you don't expect, I'll wager."
The gentleman behind him came forward. A gentleman neither very young, nor very handsome, nor very tall; at once plain-looking and proud-looking. The pale twilight was bright enough for Kate to recognize him as he took off his hat.
"Sir Ronald Keith!" she cried, intense surprise in every line of her face; "why, who would have thought of seeing you in Canada?"
She held out her hand frankly, but there was a marked air of restraint in Sir Ronald's manner as he touched it and dropped it again.
"I thought it would be an astonisher," said her father; "how are Grace and Eeny?"
"Very well."
"And Rose? Has Rose got home?"
"Yes, papa."
At this juncture Ogden appeared, and his master turned to him.
"Ogden, see that Sir Ronald's luggage is taken to his room, and then hold yourself in readiness to attend him. This way, Sir Ronald, there is just time to dress for dinner, and no more."
He led his visitor to the bedroom regions, and Kate returned to the drawing-room. Rose was there dressed beautifully, and with flowers in her hair, and all curiosity to hear who their visitor was. There was a heightened colour in Kate's face and an altered expression in her eyes that puzzled Grace.
"He is Sir Ronald Keith," she said, in reply to Rose. "I have known him for years."
"Sir Ronald; knight or baronet?"
"Baronet, of course," Kate said, coldly; "and Scotch. Don't get into a gale, Rose; you won't care about him; he is neither young nor handsome."
"Is he unmarried?"
"Yes."
"And rich?"
"His income is eight thousand a year."
"
Mon Dieu! A baronet and eight thousand a year! Kate, I am going to make a dead set at him. Lady Keith--Lady Rose Keith; that sounds remarkably well, doesn't it? I always thought I should like to be 'my lady.' Grace, how do I look?"
Kate sat down to the piano, and drowned Rose's words in a storm of music. Rose looked at her with pursed-up lips.
"Kate is in one of her high and mighty moods," she thought. "I don't pretend to understand her. If she is engaged in England, what difference can it make to her whether I flirt with this Scotch baronet or not? What do I care for her airs? I'll flirt if I please."
She sat still, twisting her glossy ringlets round her fingers, while Kate played on with that unsmiling face. Half an hour, and the dinner-bell rang. Ten minutes after, Captain Danton and his guest stood before them.
For a moment Rose did not see him; her father's large proportions, as he took her in his arms and kissed her, overshadowed every one else.
"How my little Rose has grown!" the Captain said looking at her fondly; "as plump as a partridge and as Rosy as her name. Sir Ronald--my daughter Rose."
Rose bowed with finished grace, thinking, with a profound sense of disappointment:
"What an ugly little man!"
Then it was Eeny's turn, and presently they were all seated at the table--the baronet at Kate's right hand, talking to her of Old England, and of by-gone days, and of people the rest knew nothing about. Captain Danton gallantly devoted himself to the other three, and told them he had brought them all presents from Montreal.
"Oh, papa, have you though!" cried Rose. "I dearly love presents; what have you brought me?"
"Wait until after dinner, little curiosity," said her father. "Grace, whom do you think I met in Montreal?"
"I don't know, sir."
"Why, that brother of yours. I was loitering along the Champ de Mars, when who should step up but Doctor Frank. Wasn't I astonished! I asked what brought him there, and he told me he found St. Croix so slow he couldn't stand it any longer. Complimentary to you, young ladies."
Kate gave Rose a mischievous look, and Rose bit her lip and tossed back her auburn curls.
"I dare say St. Croix and its inhabitants can survive the loss," she said. "Papa, the next time you go to Montreal I want you to take me. It's a long time since I have been there."
"I thought you were going back to Ottawa," said Grace. "You seem to have forgotten all about it."
Rose gave her an alarmed look; and finding a gap in the tête-à-tête between her sister and Sir Ronald, struck smilingly in. He was small and he was homely, but he was a baronet and worth eight thousand a year, and Rose brought all the battery of her charms to bear. In vain. She might as well have tried to fascinate one of the gnarled old tamaracks out-of-doors. Sir Ronald was utterly insensible to her brightest smiles and glances, to her rosiest blushes and most honeyed words. He listened politely, he answered courteously; but he was no more fascinated by Captain Danton's second daughter than he was by Captain Danton's housekeeper.
Rose was disgusted, and retreated to a corner with a book, and sulked. Grace, Kate, and Eeny, who all saw through the little game, were exceedingly amused.
"I told you it was of no use, Rose," said Kate, in a whisper, pausing at the corner. "Do you always read with the book upside down? Sir Ronald is made of flint, where pretty girls are concerned. You won't be 'my lady' this time."
"Sir Ronald is a stupid stick!" retorted Rose. "I wouldn't marry him if he were a duke instead of a baronet. One couldn't expect anything better from a Scotchman, though."
It was the first experience Kate had had of Rose's temper. She drew back now, troubled.
"I hope we will not be troubled with him long!" continued Rose, spitefully. "The place was stupid enough before, but it will be worse with that sulky Scotchman prowling about. I tried to be civil to him this evening. I shall never try again."
With which Miss Rose closed her lips, and relapsed into her book, supremely indifferent to her sister's heightened colour and flashing eyes. She turned away in silence, and fifteen minutes after, Rose got up and left the room, without saving good-night to any one.
Rose kept her word. From that evening she was never civil to the Scotch baronet, and took every occasion to snub him. But her incivility was as completely thrown away as her charms had been. It is doubtful whether Sir Ronald ever knew he was snubbed; and Kate, seeing it, smiled to herself, and was friends with offended Rose once more. She and the baronet were on the best of terms; he was always willing to talk to her, always ready to be her escort when she walked or rode, always on hand to turn her music and listen entranced to her singing. If it was not a flirtation, it was something very like it, and Rose was nowhere. She looked on with indignant eyes, and revenged herself to the best of her power by flirting in her turn with the Reverend Augustus Clare.
"He is nothing but a ninny!" she said to Grace; "and has eyes for no one but Kate. Oh, how I wish my darling Jules were here, or even your brother, Grace--he was better than no one!"
"My brother is very much obliged to you."
"You talk to me of my flirting propensities," continued the exasperated Rose. "I should like to know what you call Kate's conduct with that little Scotchman."
"Friendship, my dear," Grace answered, repressing a smile.
"Remember, they have known each other for years."
"Friendship! Yes; it would be heartless coquetry if it were I. I hope Lieutenant Reginald Stanford, of Stanford Royals, will like it when he comes. Sir Ronald Keith is over head and ears in love with her, and she knows it, and is drawing him on. A more cold-blooded flirtation no one ever saw!"
"Nonsense, Rose! It is only a friendly intimacy."
But Rose, unable to stand this, bounced out of the room in a passion, and sought consolation in her pet novels.
Kate and Sir Ronald were certainly very much together; but, notwithstanding their intimacy, she found time to devote two or three hours every day to Mr. Richards. Rose's mystery was her mystery still. She could get no further towards its solution. Mr. Richards might have been a thousand miles away, for all any of the household saw of him; and Grace, in the solitude of her own chamber, wondered over it a good deal of late.
She sat at her window one December night, puzzling herself about it. Kate had not come down to dinner that day--she had dined with the invalid in his rooms. When she had entered the drawing-room about nine o'clock, she looked pale and anxious, and was absent and
distraite all the evening. Now that the house was still and all were in their rooms, Grace was wondering. Was Mr. Richards worse? Why, then, did they not call in a Doctor? Who could he be, this sick stranger, in whom father and daughter were so interested? Grace could not sleep for thinking of it. The night was mild and bright, and she arose, wrapped a large shawl around her, and took her seat by the window. How still it was, how solemn, how peaceful! The full moon sailed through the deep blue sky, silver-white, crystal-clear. Numberless stars shone sharp and keen. The snowy ground glittered dazzlingly bright and cold; the trees stood like grim, motionless sentinels, guarding Danton Hall. The village lay hushed in midnight repose; the tall cross of the Catholic and the lofty spire of the Episcopal church flashed in the moon's rays. Rapid river and sluggish canal glittered in the silvery light. The night was noiseless, hushed, beautiful.
No; not noiseless. A step crunched over the frozen snow; from under the still shadow of the trees a moving shadow came. A man, wrapped in a long cloak, and with a fur cap down over his eyes, came round the angle of the building and began pacing up and down the terrace. Grace's heart stood still for an instant. Who was this midnight walker? Not Sir Ronald Keith watching his lady's lattice--it was too tall for him. Not the Captain--the cloaked figure was too slight. No one Grace knew, and no ghost; for he stood still an instant, lit a cigar, and resumed his walk, smoking. He had loitered up and down the terrace for about a quarter of an hour, when another figure came out from the shadows and joined him. A woman this time, with a shawl wrapped round her, and a white cloud on her head. The moonlight fell full on her face--pale and beautiful. Grace could hardly repress a cry--it was Kate Danton.
The smoker advanced. Miss Danton took his arm, and together they walked up and down, talking earnestly. Once or twice Kate looked up at the darkened windows; but the watcher was not to be seen, and they walked on. Half an hour, an hour, passed; the hall clock struck one, and then the two midnight pedestrians disappeared round the corner and were gone.
The moments passed, and still Grace sat wondering, and of her wonder finding no end. What did it mean? Who was this man with whom the proudest girl the sun ever shone on walked by stealth, and at midnight? Who was he? Suddenly in the silence and darkness of the coming morning, a thought struck her that brought the blood to her face.
"Mr. Richards."
She clasped her hands together. Conviction as positive as certainty thrilled along every nerve. Mr. Richards, the recluse, was the midnight walker--Mr. Richards, who was no invalid at all; and who, shut up all day, came out in the dead of night, when the household were asleep, to take the air in the grounds. There, in the solemn hush of her room, Rose's thoughtless words came back to her like a revelation.
"Where there is secrecy there is guilt."
When the family met at breakfast, Grace looked at Kate with a new interest. But the quiet face told nothing; she was a little pale; but the violet eyes were as starry, and the smile as bright as ever. The English mail had come in, and letters for her and her father lay on the table. There was one, in a bold, masculine hand, with a coat-of-arms on the seal, that brought the rosy blood in an instant to her face. She walked away to one of the windows, to read it by herself. Grace watched the tall, slender figure curiously. She was beginning to be a mystery to her.
"She is on the best of terms with Sir Ronald Keith," she thought; "she meets some man by night in the grounds, and the sight of this handwriting brings all the blood in her body to her face. I suppose she loves him; I suppose he loves her. I wonder what he would think if he knew what I know."
The morning mail brought Rose a letter from Ottawa, which she devoured with avidity, and flourished before Grace's eyes.
"A love letter, Mistress Grace," she said. "My darling Jules is dying to have me back. I mean to ask papa to let me go. It is as dull as a monastery of La Trappe here."
"What's the news from England, Kate?" asked her father, as they all sat down to table.
The rosy light was at its brightest in Kate's face, but Sir Ronald looked as black as a thunder cloud.
"Everybody is well, papa."
"Satisfactory, but not explanatory. Everybody means the good people at Stanford Royals, I suppose?"
"Yes, papa."
"Where is Reginald?"
"At Windsor. But his regiment is ordered to Ireland."
"To Ireland! Then he can't come over this winter?"
"I don't know. He may get leave of absence."
"I hope so--I hope so. Capital fellow is Reginald. Did you see him before you left England, Sir Ronald?"
"I met Lieutenant Stanford at a dinner party the week I left," said Sir Ronald, stiffly--so stiffly, that the subject was dropped at once.
After breakfast, Captain Danton retired to his study to answer his letters, and Sir Ronald and Kate started for their morning ride across the country. She had invited Rose to accompany them, and Rose had rather sulkily declined.
"I never admire spread-eagles," sneered the second Miss Danton, "and I don't care for being third in these cases--I might be
de trop. Sir Ronald Keith's rather a stupid cavalier. I prefer staying at home, I thank you."
"As you please," Kate said, and went off to dress.
Rose got a novel, and sat down at the upper half window to mope and read. The morning was dark and overcast, the leaden sky threatened snow, and the wailing December wind was desolation itself. The house was very still; faint and far off the sound of Eeny's piano could be heard, and now and then a door somewhere opening and shutting. Ogden came from Mr. Richards' apartment, locked the door after him, put the key in his pocket, and went away. Rose dropped her book and sat gazing at that door--that Bluebeard's chamber--that living mystery in their common-place Canadian home. While she looked at it, some one came whistling up the stairs. It was her father, and he stopped at sight of her.
"You here, Rose, my dear; I thought you had gone out riding with Kate."
"Kate doesn't want me, papa," replied Rose, with a French shrug. "She has company she likes better."
"What, Sir Ronald! Nonsense, Rose! Kate is Sir Ronald's very good friend--nothing more."
Rose gave another shrug.
"Perhaps so, papa. It looks like flirting, but appearances are deceitful. Papa!"
"Yes, my dear."
"I wish you would let me go back to Ottawa!"
"To Ottawa! Why, you only left it the other day. What do you want to go back to Ottawa for?"
"It's so dull here, papa," answered Rose, fidgeting with her book, "and I had such a good time there. I shall die of the dismals in this house before the winter is over."
"Then we must try and enliven it up a little for you. What would you like, a house-warming?"
"Oh, papa! that would be delightful."
"All right, then, a house-warming it shall be. We must speak to Grace and Kate about it; hold a council of war, you know, and settle preliminaries. I can't spare my little Rosie just yet, and let her run away to Ottawa."
Rose gave him a rapturous kiss, and Captain Danton walked away, unlocked the green baize door, and disappeared.
When Kate came back from her ride, Rose informed her of her father's proposal with sparkling eyes. Kate listened quietly, and made no objection; neither did Grace; and so the matter was decided.
Rose had no time to be lonely after that. Her father gave her
carte blanche in the matter of dress and ornament, and Miss Rose's earthly happiness was complete. She, and Kate, and Grace went to Montreal to make the necessary purchases, to lasso dressmakers and fetch them back to St. Croix.
"I know a young woman I think will suit you," said Ma'am Ledru, the cook. "She is an excellent dressmaker and embroideress; very poor, and quite willing, I am sure, to go into the country. Her name is Agnes Darling, and she lives in the Petite Rue de Saint Jacques."
Rose hastened to the Petite Rue de Saint Jacques at once, and in a small room of a tenement house found the seamstress; a little pale, dark-eyed, dark-haired creature, with a face that was a history of trouble, though her years could not have numbered twenty. There was no difficulty in engaging her: she promised to be ready to return with them to St. Croix the following morning.
They only spent two days in the city, and were, of course, very busy all the time. Grace took a few moments to try and find her brother, but failed. He was not to be heard of at his customary address; he had been talking of quitting Montreal, they told her there; probably he had done so.
The Dantons, with the pale little dressmaker, returned next day, all necessaries provided. The business of the house-warming commenced at once. Danton Hall--ever spotless under the reign of Grace--was rubbed up and scrubbed down from garret to cellar. Invitations were sent out far and wide. Agnes Darling's needle flew from early dawn till late at night; and Grace and the cook, absorbed in cake and jelly-making, were invisible all day long in the lower regions. Eeny and Rose went heart and soul into the delightful fuss, all new to them, but Kate took little interest in it. She was Sir Ronald's very good friend still, and, like Mrs. Micawber, never deserted him. Captain Danton hid his diminished head in his study, in Mr. Richard's rooms, or took refuge with the Curé from the hubbub.
The eventful night at last came round, clear, cold, and near Christmas. The old ball-room of Danton Hall, disused so long, had been refitted, waxed, and decorated; the long drawing-room was resplendent; the supper table set in the dining-room was dazzling to look at, with silver, Sèvres, and glittering glass; the dressing-rooms were in a state of perfection; the servants all
en grande tenue; and Danton Hall one blaze of light. In the bedroom regions the mysteries of the toilet had been going on for hours. Eunice was busy with her mistress; Agnes the seamstress was playing
femme de chambre to Rose. Grace dressed herself in twenty minutes, and then dressed Eeny, who only wore pink muslin and a necklace of pearls, and looked fairy-like and fragile as ever. Grace, in gray silk, with an emerald brooch, and her brown hair simply worn as she always wore it, looked lady-like and unassuming.
The guests came by the evening train from Montreal, and the carriages of the nearer neighbours began coming in rapid succession. Kate stood by her cordial father's side, receiving their guests. So tall, so stately, so exquisitely dressed--all the golden hair twisted in thick coils around her regal head, and one diamond star flashing in its amber glitter. Lovely with that flush on the delicate cheeks, that streaming light in the blue eyes.
Rose was eclipsed. Rose looking her best, and very pretty, but nothing beside her queenly sister. But Rose was very brilliant, flitting hither and thither, dancing incessantly, and turning whiskered heads in all directions. They could fall in love with pretty, coquettish Rose, those very young gentlemen, who could only look at Kate from a respectful distance in speechless admiration and awe. Rose was of their kind, and they could talk to her; so Rose was the belle of the night, after all.
Sir Ronald Keith and two or three officers from Montreal, with side whiskers, a long pedigree, and a first-rate opinion of themselves, were the only gentlemen who had the temerity to approach the goddess of the ball--oh! excepting the Reverend Augustus Clare, who, in his intense admiration, was almost tongue-tied, and Doctor Danton, who, to the surprise of every one except the master of the Hall, walked in, the last guest of all.
"You look surprised, Miss Danton," he said, as they shook hands. "Did not the Captain tell you I was coming?"
"Not a word."
"I returned to-day, knowing nothing of the house-warming. The Captain met me, and, with his customary hospitality, insisted on my coming."
"We are very glad he has done so. Your sister tried to find you when we were in--good Heaven! what is that?"
It was a sudden, startled scream, that made all pause who were standing near. Butler Thomas appeared at the moment, flurried and in haste.
"What's the matter?" asked Captain Danton; and the startled faces of his guests reiterated the question. "Who cried out?"
"Old Margery, sir. She's seen a ghost!"
"Seen what?"
"A ghost, sir; out in the tamarack walk?--She's fell down in a fit in the hall."
There was a little chorus of startled exclamations from the ladies. Captain Danton came forward, his florid face changing to white; and Kate, all her colour gone, dropped her partner's arm.
"Come with me, Doctor Danton," he said. "Yes, Kate, you too. My friends, do not let this foolish affair disturb you. Excuse us for a few moments, and pray go on as if nothing had happened."
They left the ball-room together. The music, that had stopped, resumed; dancing recommenced, and "all went merry as a marriage-bell." There was only one, perhaps, who thought seriously of what had taken place. Grace, standing near the door talking to an elderly major from the city, heard Thomas' last words to his master as they went out.
"Ogden says it was him she seen, but Margery won't listen to him. Ogden says he was out in the tamarack walk, and she mistook him in the moonlight for a ghost."
Grace's thoughts went back to the night when she had seen the mysterious walker under the tameracks. No, it was not Ogden, that old Margery had seen, else Captain Danton and his daughter would not have worn such pale and startled faces going out.
It was not Ogden, and it was not a ghost; but whose ghost did Margery take it to be? The apparition in the tamarack walk must have resembled some one she knew and now thought to be dead, else why should she think it a spirit at all?
The whiskered major, who took Grace for one of the Captain's daughter's, and was slightly
ebris, found her very
distraite all of a sudden, and answering his questions vaguely and at random. He did his best to interest her, and failed so signally that he got up and left in disgust.
Grace sat still and watched the door. Half an hour passed--three-quarters, and then her brother re-entered alone. She went up to him at once, but his unreadable face told nothing.
"Well," she asked, anxiously, "how is Margery?"
"Restored and asleep."
"Does she really think she saw a ghost?"
"She really does, and was frightened into fits."
"Whose ghost was it?"
"My dear Grace," said the Doctor, "have sense. I believe the foolish old woman mentioned some name to Miss Danton, but I never repeat nonsense. She is in her dotage, I dare say, and sees double."
"Margery is no more in her dotage than you are," said Grace, vexed. "Perhaps she is not the only one who has seen the ghost of Danton Hall."
"Grace! What do you mean?"
"Excuse me, Doctor Frank, I never talk nonsense. You can keep your professional secrets; I'll find out from Margery all the same. Here is the Captain; he looks better than when he went out. Where is Kate?"
"With Margery. She won't be left alone."
As she spoke, Rose came up, her brightest smiles in full play.
"I have been searching for you everywhere, Doctor Frank. You ought to be sent to Coventry. Don't you know you engaged me for the German, and here you stand talking to Grace. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir."
"So I am," said the Doctor. "Adieu, Grace. Pardon this once, Mademoiselle, and for the remainder of the evening, for the remainder of my life, I am entirely at your service."
Grace kept her station at the door watching for Kate. In another half hour she appeared, slightly pale, but otherwise tranquil. She was surrounded immediately by sundry "ginger-whiskered fellows," otherwise the officers from Montreal, and lost to the housekeeper's view.
The house-warming was a success. Somewhere in the big, busy world perhaps, crime, and misery, and shame, and sorrow, and starvation, and all the catalogue of earthly horrors, were rife, but not at Danton Hall. Time trod on flowers; enchanted music drifted the bright hours away; the golden side of life was uppermost; and if those gay dancers knew what tears and trouble meant, their faces never showed it. Kate, with her tranquil and commanding beauty, wore a face as serene as a summer's sky; and her father playing whist, was laughing until all around laughed in sympathy. No, there could be no hidden skeleton, or the masks those wore who knew of its grisly presence were something wonderful.
In the black and bitterly cold dawn of early morning the dancers went shivering home. The first train bore the city guests, blue and fagged, to Montreal; and Doctor Frank walked briskly through the piercing air over the frozen snow to his hotel. And up in her room old Margery lay in disturbed sleep, watched over by dozing Babette, and moaning out at restless intervals.
"Master Harry! Master Harry! O Miss Kate! it was Master Harry's ghost!" _