shelidonDecember 13, 2024Leave a Comment

H.D. Everett, born Henrietta Dorothy Huskisson on March 4, 1851, was a British author known for her ghost stories and novels, particularly under the pseudonym Theo Douglas. She gained popularity during the late Victorian and Edwardian eras, though she’s vastly underrated nowadays. Her literary career began relatively late in life, around the age of 44, and she published numerous works until her death in 1923. This story comes from the collection The Death-Mask and Other Ghosts, published in 1920. H.P. Lovecraft cited the collection in his essay Supernatural Horror in Literature, noting its adherence to traditional ghost story models while occasionally achieving “singular heights of spiritual terror.” M.R. James, another prominent figure in ghost literature, praised Everett’s collection for its quality, and also observed that it had been largely overlooked by critics and scholars.

I hope this will give you the chance to rediscover it.

It was growing late, the Autumn evening was advanced out of the long northern twilight to be on the edge of dark, when Reginald Noyes left the Dunowe smoking-room where he had been chatting to his host, and dashed upstairs, two steps at a stride, to dress for dinner. The warning bell had rung some time before, so he was not surprised to find his wife already attired in her evening gown. She was seated with her back to him, warming her toes at the wide and glowing fire of peat.

Noyes would have been just as well pleased not to find her there—a moderate statement of his sentiments. It was a case of the grey mare being the better horse, and the young man had not always an easy time with his chosen partner. To one sensitive to such indications, the psychic atmosphere of the big

state bedroom was charged with displeasure, and this was accentuated by a shrug of an averted shoulder. Surely something more was wrong than the mere fact that Noyes was behind time.

“Why, Flossie, what’s the matter?”

The frivolous nickname ill-fitted Mrs. Noyes, at least in her present mood. And at all times she was rather of the severe type of beauty, even when the sun shone—the metaphorical sun.

“Matter? Matter enough! It’s no use: I can’t stick it out here for another ten days, to the limit of our invitation. I’m bored to death. Coming to Dunowe has been altogether a mistake. You must make some excuse for a change of plan, and take me back to town.”

“Why—you wanted to cultivate the MacIvors: you even schemed to be invited. You were as pleased as I was when we were both asked—every bit. The shooting is excellent, and MacIvor such a good fellow. And I’m sure his mother received us with every kindness. Have you and she fallen out?”

“Do I ever fall out with any one? I’ve no patience with you when you are absurd. Of course there has been no quarrel. But I’m sick to death of this ghostly old barrack. There isn’t the least chance here of bringing off any coup. And, as you know very well, if we don’t between now and Christmas—!”

Here there was an effective pause. Noyes winced. Probably he did know what was meant. But he put up a further objection.

“You said, with a view to coups, that this visit was the very thing you wanted—to get into a house-party with Mrs. Noel MacIvor, and have a chance to draw the feather over her. By George, Noel was a lucky man when he married her, in spite of the snub nose and the American accent. A girl with two millions to her fortune, and likely to have as much again when Poppa dies. And when all the MacIvors are as poor as rats, and he the second son!”

“Two millions—yes. But it seems they were dollars, not pounds sterling, as we heard. And the girl is as sharp and as well able to take care of herself and her money as—as the paternal Yankee himself.”

“Well—she can be fairly generous when she likes. MacIvor tells me she offered to restore Dunowe for him,—put the Castle in complete repair. That was pretty well for a sister-in-law. But of course he wouldn’t consent.”

“More fool he to refuse such an offer. But in other ways she is downright stingy: dresses herself like a schoolgirl of seventeen, sweet simplicity unadorned. Not a jewel, even. And she should have had plenty of toilets and jewels in those Saratoga trunks we saw carried in!”

“I daresay you would have liked to have the ransacking of them!”

“I thought of that. But the Noels are far off in the other wing, and she has a dragon of a maid who seems always to be on guard.”

“Good heavens, Flossie! I hope you won’t do more than think of it. That sort of thing never pays. And we should be marked for ever!”

“Nonsense. What marks one is not the doing, but being found out. I don’t mean to run risks. I said, there is the maid. And I doubt if the jewels are there, though they ought to be. It isn’t worth while. But we are bound to get hold of the money—or money’s worth—by Christmas.”

Probably Noyes winced for the second time at this renewed reminder, but he was at the moment out of sight. He had plunged into the dressing-room, and was throwing things about there in the course of a hurried toilet. The door between the two rooms was set wide, and now and then he came to the opening to speak.

“I thought you were depending on your bridge. You wanted to play Auction with Mrs. Noel—that was the tale in London. You never said a word about her jewels.”

“Right: I meant to play here, and win from her. But the little fool hates cards. And the old lady is puritanical, and hates them too. They are practically barred, or allowed with a limit of sixpenny stakes.”

“Can’t you work it some other way? Flatter the heiress, and creep up her sleeve.”

Get her to restore us, as MacIvor won’t let her do up the Castle!”—a laugh here, which was presently extinguished in the folds of a towel.

“I can get round most—girls, but she doesn’t take to me. She’s like a—a glacis with no vantage for the foot. The only human bit about her is that she’s curious. She’s curious about the ghost here, and wants to find out. I told her I would try to help her——”

“You would help her! Why doesn’t she question the family? They would know if there is anything in it. But of course there isn’t.”

“It is the solitary point on which we touch. A sympathetic interest in ghosts is better than no fellow-interest at all. I’ve given myself out as psychical—save the mark! “—and here the lady laughed. “I might personate the ghost, and get at the boxes that way. But the clue of how to make up is still to seek. We do not know what sort of figure is seen.”

“Surely she could ask her husband!”

“Noel told her something, and then he shut up, and would say no more. Lady MacIvor can’t bear the subject mentioned, and Sir Ian is just as bad. And she thinks Noel must have been laughing at her. He said the ghost was a gale of wind: a gale which blows inside the castle when the real weather is still. Now a gale of wind won’t help me to the boxes. But it is mixed up somehow with an ancestress. I can’t find out which, though I asked all the questions I could, quite innocently, about the pictures. Ghosts apart, I tell you there is no chance here, and the sooner we get out of this the better. I wrote to-day to Juliet in Hampshire: you know she wanted me for her bridge parties, though she says I must not sweep the board as I did last winter. But of course that was only her joke. Gracious, there’s the second gong. I must go down at once, and leave you to follow.”

Dinner was served in the hall at Dunowe Castle, a noble but somewhat bare room, stone-floored, and so lofty as to be open to the rafters. The diners were, however, well protected from any chill; a great fire blazed, and the table was set within folding screens of Spanish leather, while a thick carpet was spread under foot. Dunowe knew nothing of the modern luxury of electric light, and the moderate illumination of the table was effected by candles in tall silver holders. This was all very well within the screens, but the corners of the big room were abandoned to gloom, and only a single lamp burned overhead in the gallery. The piquante little American bride looked round her with a shiver as she descended the staircase. Here was hiding more than ample for dozens of ghosts, and that shrewd draught from the gallery which blew on her uncovered shoulders might be the precursor of the supernatural wind which was supposed to be the MacIvor family omen.

It was not a numerous party which assembled at the table. A married pair with a couple of clever daughters had quitted the Castle that morning, frigid old people, and the girls plain and elderly: impecunious also, and of no account from the point of view of Mrs. Noyes. There were Noel MacIvor and Reginald Noyes, and four other men who were “guns,” seven in all with the host; but the American bride and Mrs. Noyes were the only ladies remaining, with the exception of the stately old dame who sat at the head of the table, and was Sir Ian MacIvor’s mother. Sir Ian had placed the lady guest on his right hand, and his sister-in-law opposite. Mrs. Noyes was still in a clouded humour and had little to say, but she must have been well entertained by the pretty American’s lively chatter. Ian MacIvor was a handsomer man than his more fortunate brother, but the family honours seemed to have brought with them a weight of care, not to say melancholy, and he looked old beyond his years.

“I went over to Eagles’ Cairn to-day with the mater,” said the bride, whose Christian name was Caryl. “You know they are all coming to Dunowe for the dance next week, and Mollie Campbell sent you a very particular message. She says they are going to put on fancy dress, as it makes it just twice the fun, and she hopes all the women you expect will do the same. Of course you men will wear the tartan. The mater did not seem to mind. I said I’d be delighted, and I thought Mrs. Noyes would dress up too.” Then, with an appeal also to her vis-à-vis: “Say, that was right, was it not?”

“Quite right, if you ladies do not mind the trouble for such a small impromptu affair. It was just like Mollie Campbell to propose it. She is a child still about what you call dressing up!”

“Perhaps we all are. I can answer for one, at least. What do you say, Mrs. Noyes?”

“Certainly, if we are still here—I am not sure——”

“Oh, you must stay for it. We cannot let you off. And about costumes: the dear mater and I talked it over in the carriage coming home. She is going to wear a great-grandmother dress that she has stowed away with a lot of others in those chests on the gallery, and I am to try on a particular one that she thinks will suit me. It is like the dress Lady Sibell wears in the picture, where she has on the heirloom pearls and that queer harp-shaped brooch. Oh, Ian,”—with a sudden thought, and striking together the pink palms of her pretty hands. “It would be just splendid if you’d lend me the pearls for that one night! Say, will you? I’d take the greatest care of them. That is, if you keep them here, and not lodged at the bank. Are they here at Dunowe?”

“Yes,” he said, “I have them here.” He did not refuse the request, but he met it gravely, and might have been divined unwilling by one less eager.

“Then you’ll let me have them, won’t you?”—the piquante little face eloquent with appeal, and the clasped hands held out. “I’d like—oh, I would like to be Lady Sibell, just for the one night. I’d say I was Lady Sibell come alive out of the picture, if they can’t guess who I am. I might even pretend to be the ghost!”

“A good idea,” he admitted, but still there was that air of a reluctance he would not put into words. “But I wouldn’t call myself Lady Sibell, if I were you. She mightn’t like it. Couldn’t you for the same period find a different name?”

“Why, is Lady Sibell the——? But I must not ask you that! It’s charming of you, Ian. I must tell Noel. I feel as if I could hardly wait for Wednesday. If they are here in the house, could you show them to me to-night?”

“I have them here—yes. In fact, they are in the built-in safe in my den, for they are not allowed to leave Dunowe. They don’t often see the light. But you may be disappointed in them. They are not pure white, and some of them are irregular. No doubt they are Scotch river pearls, not oriental.”

The description, though depreciatory, seemed to excite interest in both his hearers. Mrs. Noyes was also listening.

“Tinted pearls, are they? I wonder what colour?”

“Pinkish—to the best of my recollection.”

“Pink pearls!” Caryl clasped her hands again. “They must be lovely. And I may wear them, may I not? Just for the one night!”

He smiled now in giving consent; she looked so pretty and childish in her eagerness.

“Yes, you shall have them for the dance. They may only be worn by a MacIvor. An odd provision, is it not; but it is in the deed, which also says they must not be taken out of the castle. But now you are married, you are a MacIvor, Caryl. So that will be all right.”

It is said that lookers on see most of the game. Mrs. Noyes, looking and listening, was aware that Noel, who also listened, was rendered uneasy by his wife’s request. He was on the edge of a protest, Mrs. Noyes thought, but Sir Ian made a slight repressive sign. Caryl the bride was to have her way. Other MacIvor brides had worn the pearls, but they were wedded to the head of the house, and not to a younger son. Noel was aware that Ian thought himself too poor to marry: was it in the elder brother’s mind that Caryl in the future would have the right to the pearls as the reigning lady of Dunowe.”

“Could you let me see them to-night?” Caryl persisted.

“And may I see them too?” put in Mrs. Noyes. “I admire pearls, and I may not be here when Mrs. MacIvor wears them at the dance. Our plans are uncertain. I daresay Reginald told you——?”

No, Noyes had said nothing: in fact he had had no opportunity since the conversation in the bedroom. Sir Ian hoped, conventionally, that nothing would hurry them away so soon. In the husband’s case, it would be with him a genuine matter of regret, but he would be able to spare Mrs. Flossie with perfect equanimity. He had no great liking for the lady: the surface of her was smooth enough, but he had an instinctive feeling that something unpleasant might be encountered underneath. He would be happy, he said, to show the pearls to both ladies, if they would honour him by paying a visit to his “den.”

While dinner was in progress the wind was rising, buffeting round the many angles and turrets of the house; and now and then there was a roar in the wide chimney of the hall. It was evident that Lady MacIvor was listening, and listening with apprehension, though was it not the saying that when the ghost wind blew in the castle, the outer and mundane weather was sure to be a dead calm? The old dame was never high coloured—(old she was, to be the mother of those two stalwart sons). Hers was the ivory pallor of age, but a change of tint might have been noted on her cheek and lips, as she sat at the head of the table trying spasmodically to converse. On observing this, Sir Ian remarked, in a voice so far raised as to be sure to catch her ear:

“We are going to have a wild night of it. I could have forecasted as much when we were out to-day. The equinoctial gales have given us the go-by this year, but now it seems as if one of them was setting in in earnest.”

Only an equinoctial gale, a natural feature, and Ian cheerful in the forecast. Surely that should have set her mind at rest, and she contrived to smile back at him down the length of the table. But there was still a quiver about the proud old head, and as she smoothed her lace mittens it was palpable that the thin hands they covered trembled. And when she heard of the display about to be made in the “den,” it seemed as if her uneasiness increased. She said, however, no word to oppose. Lady Sibell’s pearls must be shown and worn, as Ian had given his word. She was a fatalist in her way: what must be, must be: but Heaven grant showing and wearing might bring no evil on the house, which in the past had been stricken enough and to spare.

It was in truth a stormy evening, a gale sweeping over from the western ocean, and buffeting the old castle as it had been smitten many times before during its centuries of existence. But the wind was external, not within the walls, except for such natural draughts as found their way through undefended chinks and crannies. There was a huge fire in the castle drawing-room of logs and peat, but despite of it Lady MacIvor shivered, and drew a voluminous white cloud of Shetland knitting close about her shoulders as she sat alone.

The two younger women had betaken themselves to Sir Ian’s den, and there he had the safe set open, and was displaying the contents of an antique casket made of some dark foreign wood, cornered and clamped with steel. Within, on a velvet bed, lay the pearls of Dunowe.

Both ladies admired the string, which was just long enough to encircle a slender throat, and had a ruby clasp. Caryl declared that the faint rosy flush upon the pearls was even more exquisite than the purity of white. She took them out of the case for closer view, and then passed the necklace over for Mrs. Noyes also to examine. But when they came into unrelated handling, a queer thing happened.

The room was lighted by four candles in tall holders, two on the table, and two set high on the mantel-shelf. These lights were not extinguished nor did they flicker, but the illuminating power of them died down till each showed only a faint point of bluish flame. The room was almost in darkness, and the three persons grouped at the table could scarcely distinguish each the face of the other in the sudden gloom.

“What is the matter with the candles?” Mrs. Noyes exclaimed: esprit fort as she considered herself, she was for the moment appalled.

Sir Ian took the pearls from her hand and replaced them in their case, and, as he did so, the lights gradually brightened until they burned as before. He did not answer the question or give any explanation: he appeared not to have noticed the darkness and the return of illumination.

“You shall have them on Wednesday evening,” he said to Caryl as he turned the key. “I am glad they come up to your expectation.”

“I think they are exquisite,” she said, “but I am almost frightened of them now. Ian, I know you won’t tell me, but is it that Lady Sibell does not want them worn? Was it her doing to put out the candles, and make them burn again when you took back the necklace? No, you needn’t answer, for I have found out! You may keep it as secret as you like, but I am certain now she is the ghost!”

Mrs. Noyes was awake that night when her husband came up to their rooms; she had also something to say.

“You need not be in too great haste over arranging our departure. The fourteenth will do for me. I have made up my mind to stay over the dance.”

“You will stay for the dance, and leave the day after: is that it? Rather a mistake if anything should happen to be missing, and there is a hue and cry. Better make it the end of the week, the day set for us, and let me have another good shoot.”

“You think of nothing but your shooting, Reginald. I never knew any one so selfish.”

“This time, my dear, I am thinking of something quite other than myself. I am thinking of you, and the risk you are running, or are about to run. For of course this change of plan is because you have seen the pearls.”

“Don’t speak so loud. Heaven knows who may be outside the door.”

“I am speaking with all discretion, and I want to know. You were there when MacIvor took them out of the safe. What are they like?”

“I had no time to look them over—of course, and there may be flaws. I had them in my own hands less than a minute. But I should say there were twenty at least the size of a large pea, and a dozen that would double that, all faintly tinted pink. The back of the string seemed made up of small ones, an odd and end lot, quite negligible. Whether those at the back were pink I could not see: there was a very bad light. But the middle ones would sell for a fortune in New York, if

we can get them there. The latest craze of the Five Hundred is for pearls, and pink pearls head the market.”

“You’ll never get them out of this house without detection and exposure, let alone across the Atlantic. Give it up, Flossie: your scheme is a bad egg. I’m off on Monday, and I shall take you with me. That’s my last word.”

It might be Reginald Noyes’s last word, but it was not Flossie’s. Many words followed on the lady’s part: indeed discussions and recriminations raged till the small hours, of which the result only need be noted. The couple would remain over the dance and until the following Saturday, and Mrs. Noyes held herself at liberty to pursue the course she had planned, and possess herself (if she could) of the pearls. And the following instructions were issued to the obedient Reginald, a little later on.

“Look here. I want you to engage Mrs. Noel for the fourth dance: it is a valse. No, I know you don’t valse well, but that does not matter. The big salon is cleared for dancing on account of the oak floor, but the flirtation nooks and refreshments will be in the hall. Get her to sit out with you, and take her to the nook right in the corner, left of fireplace, the one from which you see the stairs. It is shut in at the back with palms and evergreens, and there is a high-backed seat. Take her there while the dancing is still going on, and the hall is empty: tell her you want to confide in her: keep her engrossed.”

“I can take her there—good: but as to confiding! What the devil am I to confide? She’s the last sort of girl to stand love-making, and we haven’t an idea in common. As you said once before.”

“Talk to her about the ghost. Tell her you’ve seen it, with the tallest story you can make up—sulphur and brimstone, horns and hoofs, and all the diabolical horrors. She’ll believe you, for on that subject she would swallow anything. If you do that, you’ll have her fixed—for as long as will suit my purpose. You understand?”

The morning of Wednesday, Mrs. Noyes developed a headache. It was most tiresome of it to come when it did, and she accepted sympathy freely, and swallowed the offered remedies, which was heroic. To lose the dance would disappoint her, more acutely than words could say. No, not the actual dance; she must give up that in any case, for it would be impossible with such a giddy head. But if she could get better—ever such a little better—she would still hope to watch the spectacle from some quiet corner, where she would not be in the way. She was sure dear Lady MacIvor would excuse her arraying herself in the elaborate costume which had been arranged, and in which she was to be a pooudré. But she happened to have with her a dark domino and half-mask, which would do well enough, and this she could throw on at the last moment if she felt able to come down. She would be inconspicuous so attired, and could slip away when fatigued.

So, when the evening came, she assumed a close-fitting sheath-like dress of black satin, in which her spare figure would occupy the least possible space, even when covered by the domino. She would not venture down till the dancing was well begun, but the right moment would find her ready and the headache cured.

Noyes hated the whole business, but had so far fallen under his wife’s domination that he was prepared to play his part in the drama. He took the opportunity to acquaint himself with the special flirtation nook she had indicated, to which he was expected to lead his partner. It could not have been better arranged for Flossie’s purpose. A large Chesterfield settee was placed across the corner, backed by an apparent grove of tall palms and evergreens, which masked the door into a side-passage. This door was not to be used in the service of the night, as the passage did not lead to the kitchens, and indeed communicated only with the gun-room and a side staircase. Flossie would do her part, there was no doubt of that: it only remained for him to act up to the rôle for which he was cast, and whisper to a lady psychically interested some thrilling particulars about an imagined ghost.

He foresaw difficulty. The American bride was curious, but she was also an indefatigable dancer, and determined to enjoy herself to the full. Would she be tempted into that retirement, even by a hinted confidence as to ghosts seen at Dunowe?

Caryl was in wild spirits when the hour arrived, enchanted with the effect of her old-world costume, now completed with the heirloom pearls, and a quaint harp-shaped brooch which also figured in the picture. Her hair was dressed after the fashion of Lady Sibell’s portrait, and Caryl made the painted lady a mock courtesy as she passed her in the gallery.

“No, you mustn’t say you know me,” she said laughing to her intimates. “I’m not Caryl MacIvor to-night, or Noel’s wife. I’m his lady-ancestress instead.” And then, in a following whisper: “I doubt if the dear old mater really approves of the travesty, though she would not interfere to spoil my fun. You know she’s very superstitious, and in dressing up as Lady Sibell I strongly suspect I’m also impersonating the ghost.”

The Dunowe dance being an impromptu, there were no printed programmes; but those who had pockets—only the men had pockets—carried cards in them, and little stubs of pencils. In this way Noyes had Caryl’s name down for Number Four, but when he came to claim it, that young person seemed to be deeply engaged with another partner.

“Do you really want to dance with me?”  she queried. “Because I’m enjoying myself very much with Freddy.” (Freddy was one of the “guns.”)

“I do really want this dance, and you know you promised. If you wish, I’ll let you off the other; but do try me first.”

She yielded, and they swung off together on the well waxed floor.

“I know I valse badly,” he said presently, “and I am unpractised in the new steps. What I really want is to get you to sit out with me. I have something to tell you: it’s—it’s about a ghost. I have just had a horrible experience, and you’ll be the first to hear of it: I have told nobody else. We shall get the hall to ourselves—for five minutes—if you don’t mind coming this way.”

“About the ghost?” There was quickened interest in her repetition of his words: his fish was rising to the fly. And perhaps she was not wholly unwilling to cut short her gyrations with an unskilled partner.

“You’ll be comfortable sitting here, and that other fellow won’t think of looking for you behind this screen. I really want to consult you—ask your advice. For I’ve had the fright of my life this afternoon.”

She sank down on the soft cushions, leaning well back, which was what Flossie wished. As he took his seat beside her, he heard a slight rustle in the bower of foliage at the back of the couch, and it did not help to steady his nerves.

“I suppose it would not do to say anything to Sir Ian. My first idea, of course, was that it was a real man. A fellow with bad intentions, and no business where he was. In short, a burglar.”

“A burglar—in broad daylight!”

“Ghosts are not supposed to like daylight, are they, any more than burglars? Though I know next to nothing of the habits of ghosts. But the daylight wasn’t—wasn’t broad.”

Noyes felt he was floundering, and wondered what Flossie would think of his efforts at narration, in her hiding-place at the back.

“I mean it was getting dark—dusk, you know. If it hadn’t been, I could not have seen the flame so distinctly. Yes, there seemed to be a flame about him, or at least a light. It came out of his eyes, I think, but really I don’t know. You see, I’ve had no experience.”

“You thought it was a man first, and then you saw it was a ghost? No, I wouldn’t tell Ian: he does not care for these things, and I think they make him uncomfortable. But I would like to hear more about it. Ah-h-h, what’s that?”

“Did you see anything?”

“No, but I thought something touched me—at the back of my neck—like a finger!”

Noyes noticed that her hand went up at once to feel for the safety of the pearls.

Flossie’s first attempt had been a failure, and he was nearly at the end of ghost-invention. Flames out of the eyes: he had better say next that his apparition breathed them out of its mouth.

“What touched you was a camellia leaf: see, I have broken it off. What were you asking me?”

“Was it the flame made you think the appearance supernatural? Or was there anything else?”

“Well—you see a real man couldn’t be on fire, and yet be still and give no sign of pain. But a ghost might look like that, if—if it came from the wrong place. But what made me sure in the end, was that it vanished. It just went right out—while I stood there.”

Noyes was facing sideways as he sat, and, with attention apparently riveted on his companion, he saw with half an eye the two hands again come forward out of the bower of greenery to attack the clasp of the necklace—this time with a lighter and defter touch, which did not alarm the victim. The string of pearls dropped one dangling end, and then was cautiously withdrawn. He made a desperate effort after self-control, continuing to look his partner steadily in the face, as if absorbed in their conversation. The scheme had worked well; Flossie had secured her prize, and now the best thing he could do was to lead Caryl back without delay into the thick of the throng. It would not do for her to recognise too precisely when and where the heirloom disappeared.

“If you’ll come a little further out into the room, I can show you whereabouts in the gallery the ghost stood. You never heard of anything like it haunting Dunowe? But you see, they will not speak of the Dunowe ghosts, so whether familiar or not we cannot tell. There is the music ending, and I suppose I must take you back to the dancing-room. Thank you for giving me a hearing. Think it over, and tell me what conclusion you come to. At supper, perhaps; or to-morrow.”

He offered his arm, and at the same moment a slight click of the concealed door informed him Flossie had escaped from her hiding-place. Caryl rose, and presently he was pointing out to her an imaginary spot on the gallery above the hall.

“I was just turning out of the corridor on my way down, when there he was straight before me. I give you my word it was horrible. And then to go like that, snuffed out in a moment!”

He had not told his story well; he was conscious of its lack of vraisemblance. And it left on the listener’s mind an impression of insincerity, eager as she was to believe. Yet there was about Noyes a kind of subdued agitation which was curious: he would hardly have been so moved, she thought, by what was exaggerated or untrue. Yes, they would take an opportunity to speak of it again, and he might tell her husband if he liked, but no word must be said before Ian.

As they crossed the hall, a car drove up with late arriving guests, and now the double doors of the entrance were being set wide. Servants came hurrying forward, and Lady MacIvor at the entrance of the ballroom was ready to receive her guests. Noyes and Caryl passed her going in, and but for the expectation and look beyond, probably she would at once have noticed the disappearance of the pearls. But the moment following a strange thing happened; one likely to be memorable ever after in the annals of Dunowe.

Did the gust of air rush in from those opened doors, or whence did it originate? A whirlwind blast tore through the house, extinguishing lights, swaying the pictures on the walls, tearing down wreaths of evergreens with which the saloon had been decked for the festal night. A wind which blew upstairs as well as down, shrieking through corridor and gallery, bursting open doors and whirling into closed rooms, so that no portion of the house escaped. There were cries of terror from the women guests, but the blast ceased as suddenly as it began, and Sir Ian’s voice was heard above the din, begging everybody to be calm. The room would be quickly re-lighted, and the dancing would go on.

But the lights when they were brought, revealed pale faces which looked questioningly one to another. This was a strange thing which had happened, and beyond nature. The ghostly wind of Dunowe had hitherto been a joke in the neighbourhood: after the experience of that night it would take rank as an article of faith.

The renewed illumination, however, brought with it a diversion. Caryl’s loss was noted. Mollie Campbell exclaimed: “My dear, where are your pearls?” and the bride put both hands to her neck in uttermost dismay.

Had they been torn off and whirled from her by the ghost-wind—the act of an affronted ghost? But common sense suggested they had dropped to the floor, and had been swept away into some corner by a trailing skirt: this was advanced as the most likely explanation, though in these days all dancing gowns are sufficiently abbreviated. The necklace must be close at hand—Caryl was positive she had it in safety not ten minutes before—her dancing-partners could testify they had noticed it about her throat. The idea of theft occurred to nobody: theft was impossible in that secure house, and in the midst of friends.

“Oh, Ian, I am sorry: I am miserable to have lost it,” she said, almost in tears. “I had no notion that the snap was weak: had I thought of it, I would have tied it on. I ought to have taken more care.”

“You must not let that trouble you,” he said to her kindly. “It will not be lost—it will come back to us”: the last words sotto voce to Noel, who was as distressed as his wife. But what he meant by them he did not explain.

Noyes was among the searchers, round the floor and beyond, though well aware it could not be there. The ghostly wind, the darkness, had not helped to steady his shaken nerves, but in a way he welcomed the diversion. Everyone was talking and thinking of the strange event, and if Caryl had been robbed, that darkness would be held thieves’ opportunity. No suspicion could rest on Flossie, sick in her room.

But some half-hour later Sir Ian came to him.

“Noyes, I am sorry to tell you your wife is ill. We have a doctor here among our guests, and, if you are willing, I think it might be as well for him to see her. The matter? Oh, only a fainting-fit, but it seems to be obstinate. Some of the women found her lying in the corridor after the rush of wind, and I fear she may have been frightened. She was carried to bed, and the housekeeper and my mother’s maid are both with her. If you will go up, I’ll send Rawlins. He will know what to do.”

Noyes went upstairs at once, his heart heavy with apprehension. Not so much on account of possible danger, though he was honestly fond of his wife, despite her outbreaks of temper, and the domination of the

grey mare. What he dreaded was, discovery of what she had done. She must have fainted on her way back to their room, with the pearls upon her. And these women who found her in the corridor, who carried her to bed, would be certain to unfasten her dress in trying to recover her, and there would be the fatal necklace—doubtless well-known to both of them, housekeeper and maid. Neither would suppose it a guest’s possession, even if unaware of Caryl’s loss, and the search going on below. As he hurried upstairs, he felt like a man under sentence, who has just been informed that his hour has come.

He found Flossie laid upon the bed, moaning faintly.

“Madam is coming round nicely now, sir,” said the housekeeper. “It was the faint going on so long that frightened us. I don’t think she will be the worse.”

The woman spoke cordially, not as if she knew them for discovered criminals; but there could be no further interchange, as the doctor was at the door.

While Dr. Rawlins examined the patient, Noyes looked round the room. Flossie’s dress had been undone as a matter of course, and her few ornaments were unpinned and laid on the dressing-table, but the pearls were not among them. When he drew near the bed on the opposite side to the doctor, Mrs. Noyes turned her head on the pillow and looked at him. That she recognised her husband there could be no doubt, but there was a dreadful apprehension in her eyes. No word, however, could then be interchanged.

“Your wife has had a shock of some kind, and collapse has followed. Most likely the wind frightened her. I understand the people here consider it supernatural, and I am ready to confess it was odd, though I don’t give in to spooks. You had better let the maid settle Mrs. Noyes comfortably for the night, and I daresay Mrs. Holbrook, the housekeeper, will sit up.”

“No, no,” Noyes objected. “Nobody need sit up. I can look after her: the women need not stay. You think there is no danger?”

“No danger that I foresee: she is reviving quite satisfactorily. But I will come up again before I leave. I shall find you here?”

Noyes assented, and expressed his thanks. Then, when he had shut the door upon the doctor, he went back to the bed. His wife’s eyes met his, filled with the same agony of fear.

“Are—the women—gone?” she panted.
“Yes for the moment, but they are coming back. Where are the pearls?”
“I don’t know—I don’t know!”
“You had them. Where did you put them when you left the hall?”
“Inside the bosom of my dress—within everything—next to the skin. When I came to myself, all my clothing had been opened… They must have found——! Unless, indeed, the pearls were taken—when——!”

Speech failed, a violent shudder convulsed her, the apprehension in her face deepened into horror. The hand he had taken in his clutched him hard.

“Why—what——?”

“The wind came: it was more than wind—it was anger, fury. It seems, when I look back, there was a face with it; or I dreamed the face after. A face that was terrible. I was so near safety when it came: a few more steps: and I was full of triumph. The wind struck me down. I knew no more till I found myself in here, and the women with me. Do you think the pearls—were taken—when I fell?”

After the fateful interruption of the wind, and a general dismay over Caryl’s loss, the dance was not kept up late. The first gay frolic of it was only half-heartedly renewed, and the guests did not find much appetite for the excellent supper. It was but little after one o’clock when Sir Ian closed the great doors upon the last departure, and retreated to his den. Caryl had put in his hands the quaint antique brooch worn to fasten her dress as Lady Sibell, and again she made tearful expression of her sorrow over the loss of the pearls.

“I think they will be given back,” he said: “this and no more.”

His errand to the den was to replace the brooch. He unlocked the safe with his own key, a key that had no duplicate, and never left his possession. He opened the steel-clamped casket to lay the brooch within, and there, safe and unharmed, was the gleaming roseate string, the heirloom pearls of Dunowe.

A few minutes later he knocked at his brother’s door.

“Noel! it is I, Ian, I want to speak to you.”

Noel opened at once: he was in pyjamas, and had been on the point of getting into bed.

“What is it, old fellow?”

“Only to tell you that the pearls are found. Let Caryl know. She will sleep all the better.”

“By George, I should think she will, and I, too! Where did they turn up?”

“In their place, in my locked safe. I unlocked it to put the brooch away, and they were there.”

“In your locked safe! Did you leave it undone?”

“No. And I had the key.”

“Then how—who——?”

“No mortal hand, I think. You know, there is a saying—— I tell you, but I shall slur it over to the others. Better so. Good-night.”