ff,
Breaks clear at witty sallies,
As brooks
Run bubbling through the nooks
Of all her southern valleys.

"Her voice,
By nature and by choice,
Even those who knew her slightest
Would find
As soft as southern wind
When southern winds are lightest."

So the summer days flew, and the happy lover was making all the
preparations for the wedding.

It must be a grand affair, of course. Half the county would expect an
invitation to the wedding of Lovelace Ellsworth, and he was not averse
to having them witness his happiness.

The invitations were sent out two weeks beforehand. Dainty would never
forget that day, because it was on that very night that the Ellsworth
ghost reappeared to cast its lowering shadow again over her happiness.

It was quite a week since she had seen it, and Love had almost persuaded
her that she had dreamed the whole thing, or that Sheila Kelly had
probably played ghost to annoy her, when suddenly one night it
reappeared more horribly than ever before, striking consternation to
even the stout heart of old black mammy, who roused the whole house with
her terrified shrieks, and filled Love Ellsworth's heart with rage at
her graphic story.

CHAPTER XV.

BLACK MAMMY'S STORY.

In the dead waste and middle of the night, the sleeping household of
Ellsworth was startled from repose by long, loud, wailing cries that
rang through the wide corridors and vaulted roofs like the shrieks of
some lost, despairing soul.

Instantly every sleeper was wide awake. Hurrying on scraps of outer
clothing, they rushed from their rooms in wild alarm to the scene of
disturbance.

On the floor at some distance from the half-open door lay Dainty Chase,
clothed only in her night robes, her fair face upturned to the dim night
light like the face of one dead, while over her bent the figure of old
black mammy, grotesque in her red flannel petticoat, large-flowered
calico sacque, and white turban, and pathetic in the grief with which
she chafed Dainty's cold little hands, begging her to open her eyes and
speak just one word to her poor old mammy.

"Yo' aine dead, is yo', honey, darlin', is yo' now? Don't you know dat I
done chase dat ole debbil, an' made him drap you ter sabe heself? When I
clutch him tight an' pinch he arms, he groan wif pain an' drap ye on de
flo', slap me clean ober, and run fer his life. Open yer eyes now,
deares', fer here comes Mas