She has left the ruins behind her, not without a nervous shiver in
passing, when the sound of a step, falling lightly but regularly on the
strip of grass by the side of the drive, arrests her attention and sets
her heart beating rapidly.

"It is all my own foolish fancy," she says to herself, and walks faster.

The step follows faster too. She stops, and instantly that light
footfall is silent. Not a creature is to be seen. The old ruins rise
grim and bare between her and the pale evening sky, but not a sound
comes from them.

"It must have been my own fancy," she tells herself, and, reassured,
starts forward almost at a run.

But listen! Again the step sounds behind her; more distant and far less
rapid than her own, but clear and unmistakable. Her heart gives a great
throb, the color dies out of her cheeks, and by the time she reaches
her own door she feels ready to fall from haste and fear.

The old butler is crossing the hall and he looks at her curiously.

"Have you seen anything to startle you, Miss Honor?" he says at last.

"No; I have seen nothing. Why do you ask?" Not for worlds would she own
to any one the ghostly fears that shook her out there in the dusky
avenue, with the sound of those following steps in her ears.

"Well," adds the butler, "one of the girls has just come in, miss, in a
state of great fright, and says that she saw the old abbot himself at
the corner of the avenue, watching the house for all the world as if it
held some treasure of his own."

"Nonsense!" Honor says, turning suddenly pale, even in the lighted
hall. "I hope these silly tales are not going to begin again. Your
master will be very displeased if they come to his ears."

As she enters the sitting-room she sees that her father is not alone.

A tall man is standing on the rug before the fire, talking with much
animation. It is Brian Beresford.

"I have taken the liberty of invading you without even an invitation,"
he says, coming forward with outstretched hand.

"And you are welcome," the girl answers softly. "Besides, your last
invasion was so well timed, we may well forgive this one."

"Ah," he says, smiling gravely, "that was a rough sort of invasion! I
hope I shall never have to attack Donaghmore in that fashion again."

"I hope not indeed!" Honor agrees promptly. "I don't think I could live
through another night like that."

"Oh, yes, you could--through a dozen such, if necessary. I quite
admired your bravery. I