"Will you allow me to repose a word of confidence in you, Miss Hereford, and at the same time to tender an apology?"

Playing a little bit of quiet harmony, reading a little, musing a little, half an hour had passed, and I was leaning my back against the frame of the open window. Mr. Chandos had come across the grass unheard by me, and took me by surprise.

I turned, and stammered forth "Yes." His tones were cautious and low, as though he feared eavesdroppers, though no one was within hearing; or could have been, without being seen.

"You accused me of wandering out there last night," he began, sitting on the stone ledge of the window outside, his face turned to me, "and I rashly denied it to you. As it is within the range of possibility that you may see me there again at the same ghostly hour, I have been deliberating whether it may not be the wiser plan to impart to you the truth. You have heard of sleepwalkers?"

"Yes," I replied, staring at him.

"What will you say if I acknowledge to being one?"

Of course I did not know what to say, and stood there like a statue, looking foolish. The thought that rushed over my heart was, what an unhappy misfortune to attend the sensible and otherwise attractive Mr. Chandos.

"You see," he continued, "when you spoke, I did not know I had been out, and denied it, really believing you were mistaken."

"And do you positively walk in your sleep, sir?--go out of your room, out of the locked doors of the house, and pace the grounds?" I breathlessly exclaimed.

"Ay. Not a pleasant endowment is it? Stranger things are heard of some who possess it: they spirit themselves on to the roofs of houses, to the tops of chimneys, and contrive to spirit themselves down again, without coming to harm. So far as I am aware, I have never yet attempted those ambitious feats."

"Does Lady Chandos know of this?"

"Of course. My mother saw me last night, I find: she felt unable to sleep, she says, thinking of poor Mrs. Freeman, and rose from her bed. It was a light night, and she drew aside her curtains and looked from the window. But for her additional testimony, I might not have believed you yet, Miss Hereford."

"You seemed to be making for her apartments, sir--for the little door in the laurel walk."

"Did I?" he carelessly rejoined. "What freak guided my steps thither, I wonder? Did you see me come back again?"

"No, sir. I did not stay much longer at the window."

"I daresay I came back at once. A pity you missed the sight a second time," he continued, with a laugh that sounded very much like a forced one. "Having decorated myself with a cloak and broad hat, I must have been worth seeing. I really did not know that I had a cloak in my dressing-closet, but I find there is an old one."

He sat still, pulling to pieces a white rose and scattering its petals one by one. His eyes seemed to seek any object rather than mine; his dark hair, looking in some lights almost purple like his eyes, was impatiently pushed now and again from his brow. Altogether, there was something in Mr. Chandos that morning that jarred upon me--something that did not seem true.

"I cannot think, sir, how you could have gone down so quietly from your room. For the first time since I have been in your house--for the first time, I think, in my whole life--I sat up reading last night, and yet I did not hear you; unless, indeed, you descended by some egress through the east wing."

"Oh, you don\'t know how quiet and cunning sleepwalkers are; the stillness with which they carry on their migrations is incredible," was his rejoinder. "You must never be surprised at anything they do."

But I noticed one thing: that he did not deny the existence of a second door. In spite of his plausible reasoning, I could not divest myself of the conviction that he had not left his chamber by the entrance near mine.

"Is it a nightly occurrence, sir?"

"What--my walking about? Oh dear, no! Months and years sometimes elapse, and I have nothing of it. The last time I \'walked\'--is not that an ominous word for the superstitious?--must be at least two years ago."

"And then only for one night, sir?"

"For more than one," he replied, a strangely-grave expression settling on his countenance. "So, if you see me again, Miss Hereford, do not be alarmed, or think I have taken sudden leave of my senses."

"Mr. Chandos, can nothing be done for you? To prevent it, I mean."

"Nothing at all."

"If--if Lady Chandos, or one of the men-servants were to lock you in the room at night?" I timidly suggested.

"And if I--finding egress stopped that way--were to precipitate myself from the window, in my unconsciousness, what then, Miss Hereford?"

"Oh, don\'t talk of it!" I said, hiding my eyes with a shudder. "I do not understand these things: I spoke in ignorance."

"Happily few do understand them," he replied. "I have given you this in strict confidence, Miss Hereford; you will, I am sure, regard it as such. No one knows of it except my mother; but she would not like you to speak of it to her."

"Certainly not. Then the servants do not know it?"

"Not one: not even Hill. It would be most disagreeable to me were the unpleasant fact to reach them; neither might they be willing to remain in a house where there was a sleepwalker. The last time the roving fit was upon me, some of them unfortunately saw me from the upper window; they recognised me, and came to the conclusion, by some subtle force of reasoning, explainable only by themselves, that it was my \'fetch,\' or ghost. It was the first time I had ever heard of ghosts of the living appearing," he added, with a slight laugh.

"Do you think they saw you last night?" was my next question.

"I hope not," he replied, in a tone meant to be a light one; but that, to my ear, told of ill-concealed anxiety.

"But--Mr. Chandos!--there are no windows in the servants\' part of the house that look this way!" I exclaimed, the recollection flashing on me.

"There is one. That small Gothic window in the turret. The fear that some of them may have been looking out is worrying my mother."

"It is that, perhaps, that has made Lady Chandos ill."

"Yes; they took me for my own ghost," he resumed, apparently not having heard the remark. "You now perceive, possibly, why I have told you this Miss Hereford? You would not be likely to adopt the ghostly view of the affair, and might have spoken of what you saw in the hearing of the servants, or of strangers. You have now the secret: will you keep it?"

"With my whole heart, sir," was my impulsive rejoinder. "No allusion to it shall ever pass my lips." And Mr. Chandos took my hand, held it for a moment, and then departed, leaving me to digest the revelation.

It was a strange one and I asked myself whether this physical infirmity, attaching to him, was the cause of what had appeared so mysterious at Chandos. That it might account for their not wishing to have strangers located at Chandos, sleeping in the house, was highly probable. Why! was not I myself an illustration of the case in point? I, a young girl, but a week or so in the house, and it had already become expedient to entrust me with the secret! Oh, yes! no wonder, no wonder that they shunned visitors at Chandos! To me it seemed a most awful affliction.

As I quitted the oak parlour and went upstairs, Hill stood in the gallery.

"Lady Chandos is up, I understand, Hill?"

"Well, I don\'t know where you could have understood that," was Hill\'s rejoinder, spoken in a sullen and resentful tone. "My lady up, indeed! ill as she is! If she\'s out of her bed, in a week hence it will be time enough. I don\'t think she will be."

I declare that the words so astonished me as to take my senses temporarily away, and Hill was gone before I could speak again. Which of the two told the truth, Mr. Chandos or Hill? He said his mother was up; Hill said she was not, and would not be for a week to come.

Meanwhile Hill had traversed the gallery, and disappeared in the west wing, banging the green-baize door after her. I stood in deliberation. Ought I, or ought I not, to proffer a visit to Lady Chandos?--to inquire if I could do anything for her. It seemed to me that it would be respectful so to do, and I moved forward and knocked gently at the green-baize door.

There came no answer, and I knocked again--and again; softly always. Then I pushed it open and entered. I found myself in a narrow passage, richly carpeted, with a handsome oak door before me. I gave a stout knock at that, and the green-baize door made a noise in swinging to. Out rushed Hill. If ever terror was implanted in a woman\'s face, it was so then in hers.

"Heaven and earth, Miss Hereford! Do you want to send me into my grave with fright?" ejaculated she.

"I have not frightened you! What have I done?"

"Done? Do you know, Miss, that no soul is permitted to enter these apartments when my lady is ill, except myself and Mr. Chandos? I knew it was not he; and thought--I thought--I don\'t know what I did not think. Be so good, Miss, as not to serve me so again."

Did she take me for a wild tiger, that she made all that fuss? "I wish to see Lady Chandos," I said, aloud.

"Then you can\'t see her, Miss," was the peremptory retort.

"That is, if it be agreeable to her to receive me," I continued, resenting Hill\'s assumption of authority.

"But it is not agreeable, and it never can be agreeable," returned Hill, working herself up to a great pitch of excitement. "Don\'t I tell you, Miss Hereford, my lady never receives in these rooms? Perhaps, Miss, you\'ll be so good as to quit them."

"At least you can take my message to Lady Chandos, and inquire whether----"

"I can\'t deliver any message, and I decline to make any inquiries," interrupted Hill, evidently in a fever of anxiety for my absence. "Excuse me, Miss Hereford, but you will please return by the way you came."

Who should appear next on the scene but Lady Chandos! She came from beyond the oak door, as Hill had done, apparently wondering at the noise. I was thunderstruck. She looked quite well, and wore her usual dress; but she went back again at once, and it was but a momentary glimpse I had of her. Hill made no ceremony. She took me by the shoulders as you would take a child, turned me towards the entrance, and bundled me out; shutting the green-baize door with a slam, and propping her back against it.

"Now, Miss Hereford, you must pardon me; and remember your obstinacy has just brought this upon yourself. I couldn\'t help it; for to have suffered you to talk to my lady to-day would have been almost a matter of life or death."

"I think you are out of your mind, Hill," I gasped, recovering my breath, but not my temper, after the summary exit.

"Perhaps I am, Miss; let it go so. All I have got to say, out of my mind or in my mind, is this: never you attempt to enter this west wing. The rooms in it are sacred to my lady, whose pleasure it is to keep them strictly private. And intrusion here, after this warning, is what would never be pardoned you by any of the family, if you lived to be ninety years old!"

"Hill, you take too much upon yourself," was my indignant answer.

"If I do, my lady will correct me; so do not trouble your mind about that, Miss Hereford. I have not been her confidential attendant for sixteen years to be taught my duty now. And when I advise you to keep at a distance from these apartments, Miss, I advise you for your own good. If you are wise, you will heed it: ask Mr. Chandos."

She returned within the wing, and I heard a strong bolt slipped, effectually barring my entrance, had I felt inclined to disobey her; but I never felt less inclined for anything in my life than to do that. Certainly her warning had been solemnly spoken.

Now, who was insane?--I? or Lady Chandos? or Hill? It seemed to me that it must be one of us, for assuredly all this savoured of insanity. What was it that ailed Lady Chandos? That she was perfectly well in health, I felt persuaded; and she was up and dressed and active; no symptom whatever of the invalid was about her. Could it be that her mind was affected? or was she so overcome with grief at the previous night\'s exploits of Mr. Chandos as to be obliged to remain in retirement? The latter supposition appeared the more feasible--and I weighed the case in all its bearings.

But not quite feasible, either. For Hill appeared to be full mistress of the subject of the mystery, whatever it might be, and Mr. Chandos had said she had no suspicion of his malady. And, besides, would it be enough to keep Lady Chandos in for a week? I dwelt upon it all until my head ached; and, to get rid of my perplexities, I went strolling into the open air.

It was a fine sunshiny day, and the blue tint of the bloom upon the pine trees looked lovely in the gleaming light. I turned down a shady path on the left of the broad gravel drive, midway between the house and the entrance-gates. It took me to a part of the grounds where I had never yet penetrated, remote and very solitary. The path was narrow, scarcely admitting of two persons passing each other, and the privet hedge on either side, with the overhanging trees, imparted to it an air of excessive gloom. The path wound in its course; in turning one of its angles, I came right in the face of some one advancing; some one who was so close as to touch me: and my heart leaped into my mouth. It was Mr. Edwin Barley.

"Good morning, young lady."

"Good morning, sir," I stammered, sick almost unto death, lest he should recognise me; though why that excessive dread of his recognition should be upon me, I could not possibly have explained. He was again trespassing on Chandos; but it was not for me, in my timidity, to tell him so; neither had I any business to set myself forward in upholding the rights of Chandos.

"All well at the house?" he continued.

"Yes, thank you. All, except Lady Chandos. She keeps her room this morning."

"You are a visitor at Chandos, I presume?"

"For a little time, sir."

"So I judged, when I saw you with Harry Chandos. That you were not Miss Chandos, who married the Frenchman, I knew, for you bear no resemblance to her: and she is the only daughter of the family. I fancied they did not welcome strangers at Chandos."

I made no answer; though he looked at me with his jet-black eyes as if waiting for it; the same stern, penetrating eyes as of old. How I wished to get away! but it was impossible to pass by him without rudeness, and he stood blocking up the confined path.

"Are you a confidential friend of the family?" he resumed.

"No, sir; I am not to be called a friend at all; quite otherwise. Until a few days ago, I was a stranger to them. Accident brought me then to Chandos, but my stay here will be temporary."

"I should be glad to make your acquaintance by name," he went on, never taking those terrible eyes off me. Not that the eyes in themselves were so very terrible; but the fear of my childhood had returned to me in all its force--a very bugbear. I had made the first acquaintance of Mr. Edwin Barley in a moment of fear--that is, he frightened me. Unintentionally on his own part, it is true, but with not less of effect upon me. The circumstances of horror (surely it is not too strong a word) that had followed, in all of which he was mixed up, had only tended to increase the feeling; and woman-grown though I was now, the meeting with him had brought it all back to me.

"Will you not favour me with your name?"

He spoke politely, quite as a gentleman, but I felt my face grow red, white, hot, and cold. I had answered his questions, feeling that I dared not resist; that I feared to show him aught but civility; but--to give him my name; to rush, as it were, into the lion\'s jaws! No, I would not do that; and I plucked up what courage was left me.

"My name is of no consequence, sir. I am but a very humble individual, little more than a schoolgirl. I was brought here by a lady, who, immediately upon her arrival, was recalled home by illness in her family, and I am in daily expectation of a summons from her; after which I daresay I shall never see Chandos or any of its inmates again. Will you be kind enough to allow me to pass?"

"You must mean Miss Chandos--I don\'t recollect her married name," said he, without stirring. "I heard she had been here: and left almost as soon as she came."

I bowed my head and tried to pass him. I might as readily have tried to pass through the privet hedge.

"Some lady was taken away ill, yesterday," he resumed. "Who was it?"

"It was Mrs. Freeman."

"Oh! the companion. I thought as much. Is she very ill?"

"It was something of a fit, I believe. It did not last long."

"Those fits are ticklish things," he remarked. "I should think she will not be in a state to return for some time, if at all."

He had turned his eyes away now, and was speaking in a dreamy sort of tone; as I once heard him speak to Selina.

"They will be wanting some one to fill Mrs. Freeman\'s place, will they not?"

"I cannot say, I\'m sure, sir. The family do not talk of their affairs before me."

"Who is staying at Chandos now?" he abruptly asked.

"Only the family."

"Ah! the family--of course. I mean what members of it."

"All; except Madame de Mellissie and Sir Thomas Chandos."

"That is, there are Lady Chandos, her son, and daughter-in-law. That comprises the whole, I suppose--except you."

"Yes, it does. But I must really beg you to allow me to pass, sir."

"You are welcome now, and I am going to turn, myself. It is pleasant to have met an intelligent lady; and I hope we often shall meet, that I may hear good tidings of my friends at Chandos. I was intimate with part of the family once, but a coolness arose between us, and I do not go there. Good-day."

He turned and walked rapidly back. I struck into the nearest side walk I could find that would bring me to the open grounds, and nearly struck against Mr. Chandos.

"Are you alone, Miss Hereford? I surely heard voices."

"A gentleman met me, sir, and spoke."

"A gentleman--in this remote part of the grounds!" he repeated, looking keenly at me, as a severe expression passed momentarily across his face. "Was it any one you k............