The candle was instantly extinguished. In discreet silence thegirls stole back to their beds, and listened.

As an aid to the vigilance of the sentinel, the door had beenleft ajar. Through the narrow opening, a creaking of the broadwooden stairs of the old house became audible. In another momentthere was silence. An interval passed, and the creaking was heardagain. This time, the sound was distant and diminishing. On asudden it stopped. The midnight silence was disturbed no more.

What did this mean?

Had one among the many persons in authority under Miss Ladd'sroof heard the girls talking, and ascended the stairs to surprisethem in the act of violating one of the rules of the house? Sofar, such a proceeding was by no means uncommon. But was itwithin the limits of probability that a teacher should alter heropinion of her own duty half-way up the stairs, and deliberatelygo back to her own room again? The bare idea of such a thing wasabsurd on the face of it. What more rational explanation couldingenuity discover on the spur of the moment?

Francine was the first to offer a suggestion. She shook andshivered in her bed, and said, "For heaven's sake, light thecandle again! It's a Ghost."

"Clear away the supper, you fools, before the ghost can report usto Miss Ladd."

With this excellent advice Emily checked the rising panic. Thedoor was closed, the candle was lit; all traces of the supperdisappeared. For five minutes more they listened again. No soundcame from the stairs; no teacher, or ghost of a teacher, appearedat the door.

Having eaten her supper, Cecilia's immediate anxieties were at anend; she was at leisure to exert her intelligence for the benefitof her schoolfellows. In her gentle ingratiating way, she offereda composing suggestion. "When we heard the creaking, I don'tbelieve there was anybody on the stairs. In these old housesthere are always strange noises at night--and they say the stairshere were made more than two hundred years since."

The girls looked at each other with a sense of relief--but theywaited to hear the opinion of the queen. Emily, as usual,justified the confidence placed in her. She discovered aningenious method of putting Cecilia's suggestion to the test.

"Let's go on talking," she said. "If Cecilia is right, theteachers are all asleep, and we have nothing to fear from them.If she's wrong, we shall sooner or later see one of them at thedoor. Don't be alarmed, Miss de Sor. Catching us talking atnight, in this school, only means a reprimand. Catching us with alight, ends in punishment. Blow out the candle."

Francine's belief in the ghost was too sincerely superstitious tobe shaken: she started up in bed. "Oh, don't leave me in thedark! I'll take the punishment, if we are found out."

"On your sacred word of honor?" Emily stipulated.

"Yes--yes."

The queen's sense of humor was tickled.

"There's something funny," she remarked, addressing her subjects,"in a big girl like this coming to a new school and beginningwith a punishment. May I ask if you are a foreigner, Miss deSor?"

"My papa is a Spanish gentleman," Francine answered, withdignity.

"And your mamma?"

"My mamma is English."

"And you have always lived in the West Indies?"

"I have always lived in the Island of St. Domingo."

Emily checked off on her fingers the different points thus fardiscovered in the character of Mr. de Sor's daughter. "She'signorant, and superstitious, and foreign, and rich. My dear(forgive the familiarity), you are an interesting girl--and wemust really know more of you. Entertain the bedroom. What haveyou been about all your life? And what in the name of wonder,brings you here? Before you begin I insist on one condition, inthe name of all the young ladies in the room. No usefulinformation about the West Indies!"

Francine disappointed her audience.

She was ready enough to make herself an object of interest to hercompanions; but she was not possessed of the capacity to arrangeevents in their proper order, necessary to the recital of thesimplest narrative. Emily was obliged to help her, by means ofquestions. In one respect, the result justified the trouble takento obtain it. A sufficient reason was discovered for theextraordinary appearance of a new pupil, on the day before theschool closed for the holidays.

Mr. de Sor's elder brother had left him an estate in St. Domingo,and a fortune in money as well; on the one easy condition that hecontinued to reside in the island. The question of expense beingnow beneath the notice of the family, Francine had been sent toEngland, especially recommended to Miss Ladd as a young lady withgrand prospects, sorely in need of a fashionable education. Thevoyage had been so timed, by the advice of the schoolmistress, asto make the holidays a means of obtaining this object privately.Francine was to be taken to Brighton, where excellent masterscould be obtained to assist Miss Ladd. With six weeks before her,she might in some degree make up for lost time; and, when theschool opened again, she would avoid the mortification of beingput down in the lowest class, along with the children.

The examination of Miss de Sor having produced these results waspursued no further. Her character now appeared in a new, and notvery attractive, light. She audaciously took to herself the wholecredit of telling her story:

"I think it's my turn now," she said, "to be interested andamused. May I ask you to begin, Miss Emily? All I know of you atpresent is, t hat your family name is Brown."

Emily held up her hand for silence.

Was the mysterious creaking on the stairs making itself heardonce more? No. The sound that had caught Emily's quick ear camefrom the beds, on the opposite side of the room, occupied by thethree lazy girls. With no new alarm to disturb them, Effie,Annis, and Priscilla had yielded to the composing influences of agood supper and a warm night. They were fast asleep--and thestoutest of the three (softly, as became a young lady) wassnoring!

The unblemished reputation of the bedroom was dear to Emily, inher capacity of queen. She felt herself humiliated in thepresence of the new pupil.

"If that fat girl ever gets a lover," she said indignantly, "Ishall consider it my duty to warn the poor man before he marriesher. Her ridiculous name is Euphemia. I have christened her (farmore appropriately) Boiled Veal. No color in her hair, no colorin her eyes, no color in her complexion. In short, no flavor inEuphemia. You naturally object to snoring. Pardon me if I turn myback on you--I am going to throw my slipper at her."

The soft voice of Cecilia--suspiciously drowsy intone--interposed in the interests of mercy.

"She can't help it, poor thing; and she really isn't loud enoughto disturb us."

"She won't disturb _you_, at any rate! Rouse yourself, Cecilia.We are wide awake on this side of the room--and Francine saysit's our turn to amuse her."

A low murmur, dying away gently in a sigh, was the only answer.Sweet Cecilia had yielded to the somnolent influences of thesupper and the night. The soft infection of repose seemed to bein some danger of communicating itself to Francine. Her largemouth opened luxuriously in a long-continued yawn.

"Good-night!" said Emily.

Miss de Sor became wide awake in an instant.

"No," she said positively; "you are quite mistaken if you think Iam going to sleep. Please exert yourself, Miss Emily--I amwaiting to be interested."

Emily appeared to be unwilling to exert herself. She preferredtalking of the weather.

"Isn't the wind rising?" she said.

There could be no doubt of it. The leaves in the garden werebeginning to rustle, and the pattering of the rain sounded on thewindows.

Francine (as her straight chin proclaimed to all students ofphysiognomy) was an obstinate girl. Determined to carry her pointshe tried Emily's own system on Emily herself--she put questions.

"Have you been long at this school?"

"More than three years."

"Have you got any brothers and sisters?"

"I am the only child."

"Are your father and mother alive?"

Emily suddenly raised herself in bed.

"Wait a minute," she said; "I think I hear it again."

"The creaking on the stairs?"

"Yes."

Either she was mistaken, or the change for the worse in theweather made it not easy to hear slight noises in the house. Thewind was still rising. The passage of it through the great treesin the garden began to sound like the fall of waves on a distantbeach. It drove the rain--a heavy downpour by this time--rattlingagainst the windows.

"Almost a storm, isn't it?" Emily said

Francine's last question had not been answered yet. She took theearliest opportunity of repeating it:

"Never mind the weather," she said. "Tell me about your fatherand mother. Are they both alive?"

Emily's reply only related to one of her parents.

"My mother died before I was old enough to feel my loss."

"And your father?"

Emily referred to another relative--her father's sister. "Since Ihave grown up," she proceeded, "my good aunt has been a secondmother to me. My story is, in one respect, the reverse of yours.You are unexpectedly rich; and I am unexpectedly poor. My aunt'sfortune was to have been my fortune, if I outlived her. She hasbeen ruined by the failure of a bank. In her old age, she mustlive on an income of two hundred a year--and I must get my ownliving when I leave school."

"Surely your father can help you?" Francine persisted.

"His property is landed property." Her voice faltered, as shereferred to him, even in that indirect manner. "It is entailed;his nearest male relative inherits it."

The delicacy which is easily discouraged was not one of theweaknesses in the nature of Francine.

"Do I understand that your father is dead?" she asked.

Our thick-skinned fellow-creatures have the rest of us at theirmercy: only give them time, and they carry their point in theend. In sad subdued tones--telling of deeply-rooted reserves offeeling, seldom revealed to strangers--Emily yielded at last.

"Yes," she said, "my father is dead."

"Long ago?"

"Some people might think it long ago. I was very fond of myfather. It's nearly four years since he died, and my heart stillaches when I think of him. I'm not easily depressed by troubles,Miss de Sor. But his death was sudden--he was in his grave when Ifirst heard of it--and-- Oh, he was so good to me; he was so goodto me!"

The gay high-spirited little creature who took the lead amongthem all--who was the life and soul of the school--hid her facein her hands, and burst out crying.

Startled and--to do her justice--ashamed, Francine attempted tomake excuses. Emily's generous nature passed over the cruelpersistency that had tortured her. "No no; I have nothing toforgive. It isn't your fault. Other girls have not mothers andbrothers and sisters--and get reconciled to such a loss as mine.Don't make excuses."

"Yes, but I want you to know that I feel for you," Francineinsisted, without the slightest approach to sympathy in face,voice, or manner. "When my uncle died, and left us all the money,papa was much shocked. He trusted to time to help him."

"Time has been long about it with me, Francine. I am afraid thereis something perverse in my nature; the hope of meeting again ina better world seems so faint and so far away. No more of it now!Let us talk of that good creature who is asleep on the other sideof you. Did I tell you that I must earn my own bread when I leaveschool? Well, Cecilia has written home and found an employmentfor me. Not a situation as governess--something quite out of thecommon way. You shall hear all about it."

In the brief interval that had passed, the weather had begun tochange again. The wind was as high as ever; but to judge by thelessening patter on the windows the rain was passing away.

Emily began.

She was too grateful to her friend and school-fellow, and toodeeply interested in her story, to notice the air of indifferencewith which Francine settled herself on her pillow to hear thepraises of Cecilia. The most beautiful girl in the school was notan object of interest to a young lady with an obstinate chin andunfortunately-placed eyes. Pouring warm from the speaker's heartthe story ran smoothly on, to the monotonous accompaniment of themoaning wind. By fine degrees Francine's eyes closed, opened andclosed again. Toward the latter part of the narrative Emily'smemory became, for the moment only, confused between two events.She stopped to consider--noticed Francine's silence, in aninterval when she might have said a word of encouragement--andlooked closer at her. Miss de Sor was asleep.

"She might have told me she was tired," Emily said to herselfquietly. "Well! the best thing I can do is to put out the lightand follow her example."

As she took up the extinguisher, the bedroom door was suddenlyopened from the outer side. A tall woman, robed in a blackdressing-gown, stood on the threshold, looking at Emily.