Margaret Maliphant

								

the person would have been set against Captain Forrester. Of course it
made no difference to me, because I like him so much."
He winced, I fancied.
"You don't understand, my dear young lady," said he. "I merely wished
that there should be no misunderstandings."
"I don't think there were any misunderstandings," answered I. "We
always knew that Captain Forrester was not a man of property. He told
us so himself."
"Well, then, that's all right," said the squire.
"We liked him rather the better for it," concluded I, prompted by a
wicked spirit of mischief.
The squire did not reply to this. Of course there was nothing to reply
to it. It was a rude speech, and was better taken no notice of. He
merely put his arm round my waist again, and asked if we should finish
the waltz. I was sorry for my discourtesy before we had done, and tried
to make up for it.
Although the weather was still very treacherous in spite of the clear
sky, couples had strayed out through the conservatory onto the broad
terrace outside. I suggested to the squire that we should do the same.
He demurred at first, saying it was too cold; but as I laughed at this,
and ran outside without any covering over me, he came after me--but he
passed through the entrance-hall on his way and fetched a cloak, which
he wrapped round me. In spite of my naughtiness, he had that care for
the daughter of his old friends.
The moon was shining outside. It made dark shadows and white lights
upon the ivied walls and upon the slender gray pillars of the ruined
chapel; within, beneath the pointed arches, black patches lay upon the
grass, alternated with sharp contrasts of lights where the moonbeams
streamed in through the chancel windows.
The marsh was white where the silver rays caught the vapors that
floated over it, and dark beyond that brilliant path-way; there was a
track of light upon the sea. We stood a moment and looked. Even to me
it seemed strange to leave the brightness of within for this weird,
solemn brightness of the silent world without. I think I sighed. I
really was very sorry now for having made that speech.
We walked round the terrace outside the chapel. We scarcely spoke five
words. When we came to the wood that shades the chapel on the farther
side we stopped. The path that led into it lost itself in blackness.
"It's quite a place for ghosts, isn't it?" said I.
"Yes; it's not the place for any one else," laughed the squire. "Any
one less used to dampness would certainly catch their death of cold."
"Oh, you mustn't laugh at ghosts," answered I. "I believe in ghosts.
And I'm sure this wood must be full of ghosts--so many wonderful people
must have walked about in it hundreds of years ago."
"So long ago as that?" said he.
He was determined to treat my fancy lightly. But his laugh was kindly.
We turned back to the white moonlight, but not before I had noticed a
tall, white figure in the black depths, which I should have been quite