etta by a gentleman to
whom she is only too much attached, make it quite impossible for me to
consider any such undertaking to-day. To-morrow I may find it easier;
but, if not, be assured you shall see every nook and corner of this
house before you finally leave it."

"Thank you. I will remember that. To one of my tastes an ancient room in
a time-honored mansion like this, affords a delight not to be understood
by one who knows less of the last century's life. The legends connected
with your great drawing-room below [we were sitting in my room, I having
refused to be cooped up in their dreary side parlor, and she not having
offered me any other spot more cheerful] are sufficient in themselves to
hold me entranced for an hour. I heard one of them to-day."

"Which?"

She spoke more quickly than usual, and for her quite sharply.

"That of Lucetta's namesake," I explained. "She who rode through the
night after a daughter who had won her lover's heart away from her.

"Ah, it is a well-known tale, but I think Mrs. Carter might have left
its relation to us. Did she tell you anything else?"

"No other tradition of this place," I assured her.

"I am glad she was so considerate. But why--if you will pardon me--did
she happen to light upon that story? We have not heard those incidents
spoken of for years."

"Not since the phantom coach flew through this road the last time," I
ventured, with a smile that should have disarmed her from suspecting any
ulterior motive on my part in thus introducing a subject which could not
be altogether pleasing to her.

"The phantom coach! Have you heard of that?"

I wish it had been Lucetta who had said this and to whom my reply was
due. The opportunities would have been much greater for an injudicious
display of feeling on her part and for a suitable conclusion on mine.

But it was Loreen, and she never forgot herself. So I had to content
myself with the persuasion that her voice was just a whit less clear
than usual and her serenity enough impaired for her to look out of my
one high and dismal window instead of into my face.

"My dear,"--I had not called her this before, though the term had
frequently risen to my lips in answer to Lucetta--"you should have gone
with me into the village to-day. Then you would not need to ask if I had
heard of the phantom coach."

The probe had reached the quick at last. She looked quite startled.

"You amaze me," she said. "What do you mean, Miss Bu