ment longer without. She turned and looked at Francis,
trim and alert as ever, just steering the car around the side of the
house, and found herself hating him for the moment. He was so at home
here. And she hadn't even carfare to run away if she wanted to!

"Well, now, you poor lamb!" said somebody's rich, motherly voice with a
broad Irish brogue. "You're tired enough to die, and no wonder. Come
along with me, darlin'."

She looked up with a feeling of comfort into the face of a
black-haired, middle-aged Irishwoman, ample and beaming.

"I'm Mrs. O'Mara, an' I know yer husband well. I kep' house for him
an' the other young gintlemen when they were workin' up here before the
fightin' began. So he got me to come an' stay wid the two of ye, me
an' Peggy. An' I don't deny I'm glad to see ye, for there does be a
ghost in this house!"

The ending was so unexpected and matter-of-fact that Marjorie forgot to
feel lost and estranged, and even managed to laugh. Even a ghost
sounded rather pleasant and friendly, and it was good to see a woman's
face. Who or what Peggy might be she did not know or care. Mrs.
O'Mara picked up the suitcase with one strong arm, and, putting the
other round Marjorie in a motherly way, half led her into the house.

"Ye'll excuse me familiarity, but it's plain to see ye're dead,
Miss--ma'am, I mean. Come yer ways in to the fire."

Marjorie had been feeling that life would be too hard to bear if she
had to climb any stairs now; so it was very gladly that she let Mrs.
O'Mara establish her in a rude chaise-longue sort of thing, facing a
huge fire in a roughly built fireplace. The housekeeper bent over her,
loosening knots and taking off wraps in a very comforting way. Then
she surrounded her with pillows--not too many, or too much in her
way--and slipped from the room to return in a moment with tea.

Marjorie drank it eagerly, and was revived by it enough to look around
and see the place where she was to dwell. It looked very attractive,
though it was not in the least like anything she had ever seen.

Where she lay she stared straight into a fire of great logs that
crackled and burned comfortingly. The mantel over it was roughly made
of wood, and its only adornment was a pipe at one side, standing up on
its end in some mysterious manner, and a pile of Government reports at
the other. The walls were plastered and left so. Here and there were
tacked photographs and snapshots, and alo