he wakened. When at last he regained
consciousness he found the sun sinking in the west and feared he had
been guilty of indiscretion. He remembered that he was Mr. Forbes's
secretary now, and that Mr. Forbes might want him. He was not yet
thoroughly rested, but night was approaching and he reflected that he
could obtain all the sleep that he needed then.

So, greatly refreshed, and in a quieter mood than he had been for days,
the young man dressed and entered the hall to find his way downstairs.

It happened that Beth, whose room was near this rear corridor, had just
gone there to dress for dinner, and as she was closing her door she
heard a wild, impassioned cry:

"Lucy!"

Quickly she sprang out into the hall and turned the corner in time to
see a strange tableau.

Young Gates was standing with his arms outstretched toward Eliza
Parsons, who, a few paces away, had her back to the door of her own
chamber, from which she had evidently just stepped. She stood
motionless, looking curiously at the youth who confronted her.

"Lucy! don't you know me?" he asked, his voice trembling with emotion.

"To begin with," said the girl, composedly, "my name happens to be
Eliza. And as we've not been properly introduced I really don't see why
I should know you," she added, with a light laugh.

Tom Gates shrank away from her as if he had been struck.

"You can't be Lucy!" he murmured. "And yet--and yet--oh, you _must_ be
Lucy! You must know me! Look at me, dear--I'm Tom. I'm your own Tom,
Lucy!"

"It's very gratifying, I'm sure, young man," said the girl, a touch of
scorn in her tones. "If you're my own Tom you'll perhaps stand out of my
way and let me go to my work."

Without another word he backed up again; the wall and permitted her to
sweep by him, which she did with a gesture of disdain.

When Eliza Parsons had disappeared down the back stairs Beth drew a long
breath and approached Tom Gates, who still stood by the wall staring at
the place where the girl had disappeared.

"I overheard," said Beth. "Tell me, Tom, is she really like Lucy?"

He looked at her with a dazed expression, as if he scarcely comprehended
her words.

"Could you have been mistaken?" persisted the questioner.

He passed his hand over his eyes and gave a shudder.

"Either it was Lucy or her ghost," he muttered.

"Eliza Parsons is no ghost," declared Beth. "She's one of the maids here
at Elmhurst, and you're quite likely to see her again."