Margaret Maliphant

								

sure was a ghost if I had not been equally sure of the contrary. The
figure was not alone. If it had been, I should have accosted it. As it
was, I took the squire's arm and walked away quickly in the direction
of the house. The music had struck up again. The swing of an entrancing
Strauss waltz came floating out on the night wind.
"We must go in-doors," said the squire, not at all like a man who was
longing to dance to that lovely air; "I'm engaged for this to Miss
Thorne."
Poor man! No doubt he had had nearly enough by that time of playing the
host and of dancing every dance; he wanted a few minutes' rest.
I too was engaged, but not to a very delightful partner. After one turn
round the room with him, I complained of the heat, and begged him to
take me outside. Of course we went towards the ruin.
Of the few couples who had come out, all had gone that way, because
from that point there was a break in the belt of trees, and one could
see to the marsh and the sea. But we went round the chapel to the wood
on the other side.
"I say, it looks gloomy in there, doesn't it?" said the young man at my
side.
"Yes," answered I, but I was not looking into the wood now.
I had glanced into the interior of the ruin as we had passed, and I had
seen a tall black figure leaning up in the deep shadow against the side
of the central arch that stood up so quietly against the soft sky. I
felt quite sure that the "ghost," whom I had seen a few minutes before,
was close by. I was nearly certain that I saw a white streak that was
not moonlight beyond the bend of the arch.
I turned round and went down the lawn a few steps, my companion
following. He began to talk to me, but I did not know what he said. I
was listening beyond him to another voice. It fell sadly upon my ear.
"I've no doubt the girl was right," it said. "I'm sure she was right.
I had never noticed it before, but his leading you out to-night before
every one was very significant."
It was my sister's voice that answered, but she must almost have
whispered the words, for I could not hear them at all.
The man spoke again.
"Yes; that's not very likely," answered he, with a soft laugh. "Of
course, how could he help it? Oh, I ought to have gone away," he added;
"I ought to have gone away as soon as I had seen you. But I couldn't.
You see even to-night, when I have tried to keep away from you, you
have made me come to you at last. And I didn't think that I was doing
you any harm till now."
He emphasized the word "you." I did not notice it then, but I recollect
it now.
Again my sister's voice said something; what, I could not hear.
"Do you mean that, dearest? do you mean that?" said he, softly. "That
you would not marry him if you could help it, although he would make
such a lady of you? Ah, then I think I can guess something!"
A fiery blush rose to my cheek. I was glad that in the white moonlight