ill humor did not last long. She soon exchanged her riding-habit
for a morning wrapper, and took her needlework and sat down to sew by
the side of Mrs. Condiment in the housekeeper's room.

The day passed as usual, only that just after sunset Mrs. Condiment, as
a matter of precaution, went all over the house securing windows and
doors before nightfall. Then, after an early tea, Mrs. Condiment,
Capitola and the little maid Pitapat gathered around the bright little
wood fire that the chilly spring evening made necessary in the
housekeeper's room. Mrs. Condiment was knitting, Capitola stitching a
bosom for the major's shirts and Pitapat winding yarn from a reel.

The conversation of the three females left alone in the old house
naturally turned upon subjects of fear--ghosts, witches and robbers.

Mrs. Condiment had a formidable collection of accredited stories of
apparitions, warnings, dreams, omens, etc., all true as gospel. There
was a haunted house, she said, in their own neighborhood--The Hidden
House. It was well authenticated that ever since the mysterious murder
of Eugene Le Noir unaccountable sights and sounds had been seen and
heard in and about the dwelling. A traveler, a brother officer of
Colonel Le Noir, had slept there once, and, "in the dead waste and
middle of the night," had had his curtains drawn by a lady, pale and
passing fair, dressed in white, with flowing hair, who, as soon as he
attempted to speak to her, fled. And it was well known that there was no
lady about the premises.

Another time old Mr. Ezy himself, when out after coons, and coming
through the woods near the house, had been attracted by seeing a window
near the roof lighted up by a strange blue flame; drawing near, he saw
within the lighted room a female clothed in white passing and repassing
the window.

Another time, when old Major Warfield was out with his dogs, the chase
led him past the haunted house, and as he swept by he caught a glimpse
of a pale, wan, sorrowful female face pressed against the window pane of
an upper room, which vanished in an instant.

"But might not that have been some young woman staying at the house?"
asked Capitola.

"No, my child; it is well ascertained that, since the murder of Eugene
Le Noir and the disappearance of his lovely young widow, no white female
has crossed the threshold of that fatal house," said Mrs. Condiment.

"'Disappearance,' did you say? Can a lady of condition disappear from a
ne