da stepped out upon the piazza, and precipitately
sheltering herself behind Paul, Ellen whispered, "Sure there she is now!"

On seeing that, instead of sharing her terror, he cordially greeted the
ghost, the girl's face showed such comical bewilderment that Ida smiled
and Paul laughed outright.

"This is no ghost, Ellen. This lady is Miss Ida Ludington, a relative of
Miss Ludington's, who came to live here last night."

"I hope ye'll not mind me takin' ye for a ghost, miss," said Ellen,
confusedly; "but sure ye are the livin' image of the picture, and me not
knowin' anybody was in the house more than the family;" and she
disappeared to tell her story in the kitchen.

Ida's appearance was noticeably calmer than the night before. There was,
indeed, no indication of excitement in her manner. Paul inquired how she
had slept.

"I should think you might have had strange dreams," he said.

"I did not dream at all. I slept soundly," she replied. "But this morning
when I woke up and recognized the familiar features of the room I have
always slept in--the same books, the same pictures, the furniture just as
ever--I had to sit down a long time to collect my thoughts and remember
what had happened. I could remember it well enough, but to realize it was
very hard. And then, when I went to the window and looked out and saw the
meeting-house and the school-house and the neighbours' houses, just where
I have seen them from that window all my life since I was a baby, I had
to sit down and think it all over, again before I could believe that I
was not in Hilton, and last night all a dream."

She spoke in a low, even tone, which was so evidently the result of an
effort at self-control, that it impressed Paul more than any display of
mental perturbation would have done.

At this moment Miss Ludington appeared on the piazza with a white,
excited face, which, however, as soon as she saw Ida, became all smiles.

She had scarcely slept at all. The thought had kept her awake that Ida
might vanish as mysteriously as she had come, and be gone at morning.
From sheer weariness, however, she had at last fallen into a doze. On
awaking she had gone to call Ida, and finding her chamber empty, had
hurried downstairs full of apprehension.

Immediately after breakfast, Miss Ludington, to whom Ellen's mistake, if
mistake it could be called, had been related, took Ida upstairs, and
made her exchange her white dress of the fashion of half a century