since his death. All the people round know about it, and
they call it the Singing Ghost of Coverthorne."

"O Miles," I began, "you don't believe such stuff as that?"

"I know you'll think me a coward," he interrupted. "I'm not afraid of
most things, but I own frankly I hate to go near that horrid room.
Mother had it furnished, and tried to use it one winter; but at the end
of a month she got so frightened of the noise that she declared she'd
never sit there again."

"I don't mind your ghost," I exclaimed, laughing. "You wait here, and
I'll go back and listen to it again."

I entered the room, closed the door behind me, and stood waiting in a
corner of the floor. I tried to persuade myself that I was not in the
least frightened, but my heart beat faster than usual, and I strained
my ears with almost painful intentness to catch the slightest sound.
Within the last few moments the place seemed to have grown more cold,
damp, and earthy than before; it felt like standing in a vault. Then,
whether from the floor, ceiling, or solid oak panelling on the walls, I
could not tell, came once more that mysterious sound, as though a
person were humming with closed lips. I cast one hasty glance round
the room, and made hurriedly for the door. Miles was still waiting in
the passage.

"You didn't stay very long," he remarked with a quiet smile.

CHAPTER V.

NICHOLAS COVERTHORNE SHOWS HIS HAND.

In due course the summer holidays came to an end, and Miles and I met
again at school. I had not been in his company five minutes before I
noticed that his face wore a different look from when I had seen him
last at Coverthorne; indeed, he seemed once more as sad and dejected as
he had appeared immediately after his father's funeral.

"What's the matter with you? Have you been ill?" I asked; but he only
shook his head and gave evasive replies.

The first day of the half was always one of excitement. The reunion of
old friends, the appearance of new boys and masters, the changes of
classes and dormitories, all aroused our lively interest; but Miles
seemed in no mood to join in our fun. He slipped out of the playground
as soon as work was finished, and went off for a walk alone.

Thinking that his return to school had in some way recalled the
consciousness of his bereavement, I allowed him for a time to go his
own way; but when tea was over I determined to find him, and at least
offer him some expression of sympathy.