al. And, once more, the frightful
dreams of the first night terrified her, following each other in the
same succession. This time her nerves, already shaken, were not equal
to the renewed torture of terror inflicted on them. She threw on her
dressing-gown, and rushed out of her room in the middle of the night.
The porter, alarmed by the banging of the door, met her hurrying
headlong down the stairs, in search of the first human being she could
find to keep her company. Considerably surprised at this last new
manifestation of the famous 'English eccentricity,' the man looked at
the hotel register, and led the lady upstairs again to the room
occupied by her maid. The maid was not asleep, and, more wonderful
still, was not even undressed. She received her mistress quietly.
When they were alone, and when Mrs. Norbury had, as a matter of
necessity, taken her attendant into her confidence, the woman made a
very strange reply.

'I have been asking about the hotel, at the servants' supper to-night,'
she said. 'The valet of one of the gentlemen staying here has heard
that the late Lord Montbarry was the last person who lived in the
palace, before it was made into an hotel. The room he died in, ma'am,
was the room you slept in last night. Your room tonight is the room
just above it. I said nothing for fear of frightening you. For my own
part, I have passed the night as you see, keeping my light on, and
reading my Bible. In my opinion, no member of your family can hope to
be happy or comfortable in this house.'

'What do you mean?'

'Please to let me explain myself, ma'am. When Mr. Henry Westwick was
here (I have this from the valet, too) he occupied the room his brother
died in (without knowing it), like you. For two nights he never closed
his eyes. Without any reason for it (the valet heard him tell the
gentlemen in the coffee-room) he could not sleep; he felt so low and so
wretched in himself. And what is more, when daytime came, he couldn't
even eat while he was under this roof. You may laugh at me, ma'am--but
even a servant may draw her own conclusions. It's my conclusion that
something happened to my lord, which we none of us know about, when he
died in this house. His ghost walks in torment until he can tell
it--and the living persons related to him are the persons who feel he
is near them. Those persons may yet see him in the time to come.
Don't, pray don't stay any longer in this dreadful place! I wouldn't
stay anothe