No candles yet in Lady Chandos\'s rooms, but a great flood of light in those of Mrs. Chandos. The commotion in the ironing-room, that followed on the discovered presence of Hill, had given me the opportunity to come away, and so exchange (not willingly) the gossiping cheerfulness of the back, for the dreary front of the house. I had nearly laughed aloud at those foolish servant-girls; nevertheless, in what they had said there was food for speculation. For when Harry Chandos was abed, sick with fever; when he was over in France, with the broad sea and many miles of land between him and his home; how could they have seen him, or fancied they saw him, in these dark walks, night after night, at Chandos?

Pacing the dark gravel-walk from wing to wing, glancing, as I passed each time, through the window-panes and the muslin curtains into the oak-parlour, where the solitary tea waited, I thought over it all, and came to the conclusion that, taking one curious thing with another, something was uncanny in the place. How long should I have to stay at it?--how long would it be before Emily de Mellissie came back to me?

The hall-door stood open, and the hall-lamp threw its light across the lawn in a straight line. It seemed like a ray of company amid the general dreariness. I took a fancy to walk along the pleasant stream, forgetting or unheeding the dew that might lie on the grass. On reaching the other side, I stood a moment at the top of the pine-walk, and then advanced a few steps down it.

Some one was there before me. A white figure--as it looked--was flitting about; and I gave a great start. What with the night-hour, the solitary loneliness of all around, the soft sighing sound from the branches of the trees, and the servant-girls\' recent talk of the "ghost," I am not sure but I began to think of ghosts myself. Ghost, or no ghost, it came gliding up to me, with its slender form, its lovely face: Mrs. Chandos, in a white silk evening dress, with a small white opera-cloak on her shoulders. It was her pleasure, as I learnt later, to dress each day for her own lonely society just as she would for a state dinner-table.

"How you startled me!" she exclaimed. "With that great brown shawl on your head, you look as much like a man as a woman. But I saw by the height it was not he. Did you know that he came--that he was here last night?" she added, dropping her voice to the faintest whisper.

It was the first time Mrs. Chandos had voluntarily addressed me. Of course I guessed that she alluded to Mr. Harry Chandos: but I hesitated to answer, after the caution he had given me. Was there anything wild about her voice and manner as she spoke?--had her spirits run away with her to-night?--or did the fact of her flitting about in the white evening-dress in this wild way, like any schoolgirl, cause me to fancy it?

"Did you know it, I ask?" she impatiently rejoined. "Surely you may answer me."

"Yes!" There seemed no help for it. "I saw him madam, but I shall not mention it. The secret is safe with me."

"You saw him! Oh, heaven, what will be done?" she cried, in evident distress. "It was so once before: the servants saw him. You must not tell any one; you must not."

"Indeed I will not. I am quite trustworthy."

"What are you doing out here?" she sharply said. "Looking for him?"

"Indeed no. I was dull by myself, and came across unthinkingly. I am as true as you, Mrs. Chandos. I would not, for the world, say a word to harm him."

The assurance seemed to satisfy--to calm her; she grew quiet as a little child.

"To talk of it might cause grievous evil, you know; it might lead to--but I had better not say more to a stranger. How did you come to know of it?"

I made no answer. Some feeling, that I did not stay to sift, forbade me to say it was from himself.

"I know; it was from Madame de Mellissie. It was very foolish of her to tell you. It was wrong of her to bring you here at all."

As Mrs. Chandos spoke, there was something in her words, in her tone, in her manner altogether, that caused a worse idea to flash across me--that she was not quite herself. Not insane; it was not that thought; but a little wanting in intellect; as if the powers of mind were impaired. It startled me beyond measure, and I began to think that I ought to try and get her indoors.

"Shall you not take cold out her, Mrs. Chandos?"

"I never take cold. You see, I am my own mistress now: when Mrs. Freeman\'s here, she will never let me come out after dusk. Lady Chandos sent my maid to sit with me this evening, but I lay down on the sofa, and told her I was perhaps going to sleep and she could not stay with me. And I came out; I thought I might see him."

Every word she spoke added to the impression.

"And so you saw him last night! I did not; I never do. The windows looking this way are closed. And perhaps if I were to see him like that, and be taken by surprise, it might make me ill: Mrs. Freeman says it would. It is so sad, you know!"

"Very sad," I murmured, assuming still that she alluded to the infirmity of Mr. Chandos.

"They never told me. They are not aware that I know it. I found it out to-day. I was going about the gallery early this morning, before Hill came home, and I found it out. When Mrs. Freeman\'s here, I can only get out when she pleases. You cannot think what a long time it is since--since----"

"Since what?" I asked, as she came to a stop.

"Since the last time. Harry has not said a word to me all day; it is a shame of him. He ought to have told me."

"Yes, yes," I murmured, wishing to soothe her.

"You see, Harry\'s not friends with me. He tells me he is, but he is not in reality. It is through my having treated him badly: he has been the same as a stranger ever since. But he ought to have told me this. You must not tell them that I know it."

"Certainly not."

"They might lock me in, you know; they did once before: but that was not the last time, it was when Harry was in France. If Mrs. Freeman had been here to-day, I should not have known it so soon. It is very cruel: I think I shall tell Lady Chandos so. If Harry----"

During the last few words, Mrs. Chandos\'s eyes had been strained on a particular spot near to us. What she saw, or fancied she saw, I know not, but she broke into a low smothered cry of fear, and sped away swiftly to the house. Rather startled, I bent my eyes on the place, as if by some fascination, half expecting--how foolish it was!--to see Mr. Chandos perambulating in his sleep. And I believe, had I done so, I should have run away more terrified than from any ghost.

Something did appear to be there that ought not. It was between the trunks of two trees, in a line with them, as if it were another tree of never-yet-witnessed form and shape. A vast deal more like the figure of a man, thought I, as I gazed. Not a tall slender man like Mr. Chandos; more of the build of Mr. Edwin Barley.

"Why the idea of the latter should have occurred to me, or whether the man (it certainly was one!) bore him any resemblance, I could not tell. The fancy was quite enough for me, and I sped away as quickly as Mrs. Chandos had done. She had whisked silently through the hall towards her rooms, and met her maid on the stairs; who had probably just discovered her absence.

"Are you ready to make tea, Miss Hereford? I have come to have some."

It was the greeting of Mr. Chandos, as I ran, scared and breathless, into the oak-parlour. He was sitting in the easy-chair near the table, a review in his hand, and looked up with surprise. No wonder--seeing me dart in as if pursued by a wild cat, an ugly shawl over my head. But, you see, I had not thought he would be there.

However, he said nothing. I sat down, as sedate as any old matron, and made the tea. Mr. Chandos read his paper, and spoke to me between whiles.

"Don\'t you think, sir, we ought to have heard to-day from Madame de Mellissie?"

"Why to-day?"

"It is getting time that I heard. Except the short note to Lady Chandos, written upon her arrival in Paris, she has not sent a syllable. It is very strange."

"Nothing is strange that Emily does. She may be intending to surprise us by arriving without notice. I fully expect it. On the other hand, we may not hear from her for weeks to come."

"But she has left me here, sir! She said she should be sure to come back the very first day she could."

Mr. Chandos slightly laughed. "You may have passed from her memory, Miss Hereford, as completely as though you never existed in it."

I paused in consternation, the suggestion bringing to me I know not what of perplexity. He looked excessively amused.

"What can I do, sir?"

"Not anything that I see, except make yourself contented here. At least until we hear from Emily."

With the tea-things, disappeared Mr. Chandos; and a sensation of loneliness fell upon me. At what? At his exit, or at my previous alarm in the pine-walk? I might have asked myself, but did not. He came back again shortly, remarking that it was a fine night.

"Have you been out, sir?"

"No. I have been to my mother\'s rooms."

"Is she better this evening?"

"Much the same."

He stood with his elbow on the mantelpiece, his hand lifted to his head; evidently in deep thought, a strange look of anxiety, of pain, in the expression of his countenance. I went over to a side table to get something out of my workbox; and, not to disturb him by going back again, I softly pulled aside the muslin window-curtain to look out for a minute on the dusky, still night.

"What was it made me spring back with a sudden movement of terror and a half-cry? Surely I could not be mistaken! That was a face close to the window, looking in; the dark face of a man; and, unless I was much mistaken, bearing a strong resemblance to that of Mr. Edwin Barley.

"What is it?" asked Mr. Chandos, coming forward. "Has anything alarmed you?"

"Oh, sir! I saw a face pressed close to the window-pane. A man\'s face."

"Without the loss of a moment, Mr. Chandos threw up the window, and had his head out. All I felt good for was to sit down in a chair out of sight. He could see no one, as it appeared, and he shut the window again very quietly. Perhaps his thoughts only pointed to some one of the servants.

"Are you sure you saw any one, Miss Hereford?"

"I am very nearly sure, sir."

"Who was it?"

In truth I could not say, and I was not obliged to avow my suspicions. Mr. Chandos hastened outside, and I remained alone, as timid as could be.

A curious and most unpleasant suspicion was fixing itself upon my mind, dim glimpses of which had been haunting me during tea--that Mr. Edwin Barley\'s object was me. That it was himself who had been in the pine-walk, and again now at the window, I felt a positive conviction. He must have recognised me; this stealthy intrusion at odd times, seasonable and unseasonable, must be to watch me, to take note of my movements, not of those of the owners of Chandos. But for his motive I searched in vain.

"I cannot see or hear any one about," said Mr. Chandos, when he returned; "all seems to be quite free and still. I fancy you must have been mistaken, Miss Hereford."

I shook my head, but did not care to say much, after the notion that had taken possession of me. Words might lead to deeper questions, and I could not for the world have said that I knew Edwin Barley.

"Possibly you may be a little nervous to-night," he continued, ringing the bell; "and at such times the fancy considers itself at liberty to play us all sorts of tricks. My having told you what I did this morning relating to myself, may have taken hold of your imagination."

"Oh, no; it has not."

"I shall be very sorry to have mentioned it, if it has. Believe me, there\'s nothing in that to disturb you. When you ran in at tea-time I thought you looked scared. Close the shutters," he added, to the servant, who had appeared in answer to his ring. "And if you will pardon my leaving you alone, Miss Hereford, I will wish you good-night. I am very tired, and I have some writing to do yet."

He shook hands with me and departed. Joseph bolted and barred the shutters, and I was left alone. But I went up to my room before ten o\'clock.

Would Mr. Chandos--or his ghost, as the servants had it--be out again that night in his somnambulant state? The subject had taken hold of my most vivid interest, and after undressing I undid the shutters and stood for a few minutes at the window in a warm wrapper, watching the grounds. Eyes and ears were alike strained, but to no purpose. No noise disturbed the house indoors, and all appeared still without. It might be too early yet for Mr. Chandos.

But the silence told upon me. There was not a voice to be heard, not a sound to break the intense stillness. I began to feel nervous, hurried into bed, and went to sleep.

Not to sleep for very long. I was awakened suddenly by a commotion in the gallery outside. A loud, angry cry; reproachful tones; all in the voice of Mrs. Chandos; they were followed by low, remonstrating words, as if somebody wished to soothe her. Were you ever aroused thus in the middle of the night in a strange, or comparatively strange, place? If so, you may divine what was my terror. I sat up in bed with parted lips, unable to hear anything distinctly for the violent beating of my heart; and then darted to the door, putting on my slippers and my large warm wrapper, before drawing it cautiously an inch open.

It was not possible to make out anything at first in time dim gallery. Three dusky forms were there, having apparently come from the west wing, which I took to be those of Lady, Mr., and Mrs. Chandos. She, the latter, had her hair hanging down over a white wrapper; and Mr. Chandos, his arm about her waist, was drawing her to her own apartments. It was by that I knew him; who else would have presumed so to touch her?--his coat was off, his slippers were noiseless. The moonlight, coming in faintly on the gallery from above, made things tolerably clear, as my eyes got used to them.

"You never wou............