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well as a romance to cast a glamour over their surroundings. Good listeners, too; showing a desire to hear what was going on in the world of thought; and, now and again, asking questions which kept his wits at work for a reply—a not unpleasant exercise to Allan Meredith, accustomed to use them.

An hour passed quickly away. It was only the uneasy glances the young girl was beginning to cast towards the door which reminded him that Verschoyle had left them so long. When he re-entered the room, Meredith noticed that the sister's eyes turned anxiously towards him.

"I made sure about your bag by seeing after it myself, Meredith," he began. "Remembered the mistakes Sally's brother is apt to make, you know, Madge; and thought he might demand the post bag, or something of that sort."

He appeared more desirous now of making conversation, reminding Meredith of some of their Oxford experiences, inquiring about mutual friends, and what not. But his gaiety did not sit quite naturally upon him, and there was an under-current of excitement in his tone and manner. One there saw that his gaiety was only on the surface, and that he eyed Meredith closely and speculatively when he thought himself unobserved.

"Two thousand pounds! Two thousand!—and a quarter of that would save me," he was thinking. Were the notes in that wallet of which he could trace the outline in the breast pocket of the other's coat? His eyes were turned again and again, as if fascinated, to that breast pocket, while he talked on àpropos of anything that suggested itself. Presently, in reply to some remark of his mother's with reference to the rising moon, and the ghostly way in which its beams seemed to steal about the ruin, he said: "Do you know that we can boast of having a ghost, Meredith?"

"Our very own, who watches over the fortunes of the house," said his sister. "At least, that is the tradition. When last heard of, he was wandering about, with his hand uplifted as if in warning. Not very original, is it? And not of much use, unless he will tell us what we are being warned against."

"Have you seen him, Miss Verschoyle?"

"Oh, no. Even he seems to have deserted us now."

"Speak for yourself, Madge," said her brother, stealing a side glance towards Meredith.

"Have you, then, Laurence?" she ejaculated, turning quickly towards him. "I thought you were inclined to make a jest of the monk."

"I am inclined to do that no longer, perhaps."

"Do you mean that you have seen him? You told me nothing about it, Laurence."

"When I knew what a fright it gave you only to imagine you saw him?"

"But I was only ten years old then, you know. I was frightened, Mr. Meredith," she said, turning to him with a smile. "But even then I was quite as curious as frightened; for though I fell upon my knees and hid my face, I begged him not to go until I got sufficiently used to him to be able to ask what I wanted to know."

"Had he not the grace to do that, Miss Verschoyle?"

"Well, it was only an old military cloak of my father's, which Laurence had hung over a broom in a corner of the school-room to try my courage."

"I wonder what questions you would ask now?"

"Oh, there are so many things one would like to know," the sweet face shadowing, and the eyes taking an anxious expression.

"Is the monk supposed to have a predilection for any particular chamber?" asked Meredith. "Ghosts are uncertain visitors, I know; but it would be something to pass a night where one might be expected."

"You might find it no jest if he came," said Laurence.

"Oh, I should take him seriously enough. In fact, I have something of Miss Verschoyle's feeling. There are so many questions one would like to ask."

She was glancing curiously towards her brother. "Why did he take that tone—he that, until now, had been as ready as the rest to jest at the ghost?" But she had no time to speculate as to what was in his mind. Now that he had returned, she might consider herself off duty in the matter of doing her share towards entertaining; and she had to help Sally to prepare a room for the guest, her invalid mother to attend to, and to contrive a fitting breakfast for the morrow.

The two young men passed out on to the grass terrace before the window, lighted their cigars, and strolled to and fro in the moonlight. There was very little interchange of thought. Allan Meredith was speculating as to how best he could set about helping Margaret Verschoyle's brother; and beginning to fear it would be very difficult to do so, unless he were more inclined than he now appeared to put his shoulder to the wheel.